The Last Stand
by casus17
Summary: When humanity and hope is all but lost, will it take a man thousands of years out of his own time to bring peace to not one but two galaxies? AU for The Last Man
1. Chapter 1: The Last Man

**Disclaimer:** I don't know anything you recognise... Seriously. None of it.

**Author's Note:** Okaaay, so I know last time I mentioned something about bringing out a Supernatural story next, but this idea has been just bugging and bugging me! Wouldn't go away until I finished it!

This is, as the summary suggests, an AU for The Last Man, cause I can't help myself. It's pretty long, but I'm pretty pleased with it, which is weird for me, cause I'm my own worst critic. So stick around. I believe it will be worth it!

**THE LAST STAND**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Last Man**

Daniel Fairfield marched as quickly as he could down the red tinged corridor, shaking his head. He and his team had been in Atlantis for all of two days, and already it seemed as if there were hundreds of things he had just 'had' to see. The problem was, there was only one thing he really wanted to see, and yet it remained elusive. And they were running out of time.

Fairfield turned the corner, hoping that maybe this time it was what they had come to Atlantis to find – a way, any way, to turn back the threat that ravaged their galaxy. Somehow he doubted it, but what harm did wishful thinking do?

He rounded another corner and nearly ran into his chief scientist. His quick reflexes and a strong grip were all that stopped Kate Thomas from falling on her too intelligent butt.

"I was just coming to find you," Kate told him breathlessly, forgetting to thank him in the face of something obviously exciting. Really exciting, judging from the light in her eyes. "I found something you really have to see."

Fairfield rolled his eyes. "Everyone has something I have to see, Kate. Can it wait just a minute?"

But the scientist was shaking her head. "Definitely not," she informed him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him down the corridor she had just come up. "We wouldn't have even found it if you hadn't told us to clear the sand."

"Found what?" he asked, prying her hand from his shirt. But he kept pace. He didn't think he had ever seen Kate this excited, not even when she had been told of this Atlantis expedition.

Excited or not, she was shaking her head. "It's better if you see for yourself," she told him, picking up her pace. She looked back at him, grinning. "But it might be exactly what we came to Atlantis to find. Come on, it's in here."

He followed her into the room, pausing at the door, and frowned as his eyes failed to find whatever weapon she had found. And then Fairfield's eyes fell on…

"Oh wow," he whispered, walking forward to the… it must have been a stasis pod. Well, they hadn't expected _this_.

This being a man frozen in time.

"Oh… wow," Fairfield repeated, stronger this time. He looked down at Kate where she stood by his shoulder, and she nodded.

"I know. Amazing, huh?"

"Who is he?" Fairfield asked, leaning closer for a better look. The man was in his late thirties – or had been, when he had been put in stasis. Dark hair, stubble just growing, and a soldier, judging by the boots and black uniform.

Kate seemed to be tossing up her answer. "I don't know. At least, not for sure. But I have a theory. Look at the right sleeve."

Frowning at Kate, he nonetheless took a look, noticing the badge quickly. Once again his jaw dropped. "Atlantis," he breathed. "One of the original Atlantis expedition?"

"That's what I originally thought. And still do… but." She shook her head. "I remembered that Atlantis was abandoned almost 50,000 years ago."

Fairfield frowned down at her again. "He doesn't look 50,000 years old, even for stasis," he told her. She rolled his eyes at him.

"That's because he isn't. We checked, and then double checked. He's a lot more recent than that."

Daniel gaped up at the frozen man. "But that's impossible," he argued. "No one has been to this city since it was abandoned."

"Obviously that isn't the case," Kate told him. "Daniel, have you heard the story, 'McKay's Last Theory'?"

"Let's pretend I haven't," he told her. Because he really hadn't. Kate nodded.

"Rodney McKay was the lead scientist in the original Atlantis expedition."

Fairfield rolled his eyes, and cut her off. "I know who McKay was, Kate. Everyone does. Get to the good bit."

She mock-glared at him. "Then you know that he quit the expedition when basically everyone he had known from the original Atlantis team had been killed." Daniel nodded. "What most people don't know, however, was that he returned to Atlantis one last time before he died. To implement one last program that he hoped would change the way everything had gone wrong. He wanted to change the past."

"So how do you know that?" Fairfield asked, hoping she was getting to the point sometime soon.

"It was in General Evan Lorne's unpublished memoirs, but that doesn't matter," she said with a wave of his hand. "What matters, is that this program he put into place was a holographic projection of himself, tied into Atlantis' very mainframe. It was meant to wait here, in Atlantis."

Daniel looked down at her, still frowning. "Wait here for what?"

She shook her head. "Not what. Who. A man who disappeared a few months before the Hybrid War really kicked into action. His hologram was meant to wait here for this man to reappear through the Stargate, and then to send him back in time so he could change everything." She shrugged. "Obviously it didn't work, or hasn't yet. I don't know, the whole time thing is -."

"Oh _wow_," Fairfield breathed once more as soon as he got it. He looked up at the man frozen in time, eyes wide, heart racing. "You don't seriously think…"

Kate grinned. "I do, Daniel, I really do." She looked up at the man as well, and the grin softened with relief.

"I think we just found John Sheppard."

* * *

Within an hour, they were ready to try and bring the man out of stasis. Fairfield kept out of the way, leaving the work to Kate, her team, and the expedition doctor, Reese Webb. The man moved quickly, trying to get everywhere at once, checking vital signs, making sure they weren't about to kill a living, breathing legend.

If the man really was John Sheppard. Kate seemed to be convinced, but Fairfield wanted to be more pragmatic than that. Sheppard really was a legend, and many of Fairfield's people had doubted he had ever actually existed. There were stories, of the man being sent forward in time by a freak solar flare intersecting with the wormhole he was travelling through, but then again, there were stories of him turning into a bug, and others that claimed he had been fed on by a Wraith. Whoever this man was, it was doubtful he had ever been fed on.

Then again, who else would be here?

Word must have spread amongst the expedition, because for the last twenty minutes, Fairfield's radio had been blissfully silent. He had been able to watch Kate and Webb work, and hope. There was nothing wrong with hope, however pragmatic he was.

Finally Kate nodded at him, and Fairfield pushed off the wall, moving closer. "Ready?" he asked, talking to both Kate and Webb.

"We're ready," Kate told him, and the doctor nodded in agreement.

"This isn't going to kill him or anything?" Fairfield just had to make sure.

"No," Webb reassured. "He's perfectly healthy in there. He'll be fine."

Fairfield nodded. "Okay. Wake him up."

Webb turned back to the stasis pod, and ran his fingers over the control pad, tapping a few buttons. Fairfield felt his heart racing again and stepped back once more to watch. He had the feeling this was going to be either spectacularly bad or everything they had ever hoped for.

There was a sound of release, and a blue light shimmered back from the ice-like barrier separating the man from time. And for the first time in a long time, John Sheppard blinked.

Holding his breath, Fairfield could barely stand to watch as Webb stepped up, checking the vital signs again. Sheppard, if it was him, blinked again, and turned his head, shock appearing on his face as he took in all the people surrounding him.

"Hi," Daniel greeted, stepping forward, hands in his pockets. He glanced at Kate, then looked at who they hoped was John Sheppard. "Welcome back."

* * *

Coming out of stasis was one of the strangest experiences of Sheppard's life. He knew he had been in a deep sleep, deeper than any sleep he had ever been in. More like a coma than sleep. Yet he felt fine. A little sore, a little rigid, but fine. Well, physically at least. He had had his eyes open for God knew how long, and he hadn't spoken in just as long and yet both his eyes and mouth were working fine.

Well, his mouth would have been if he hadn't been too shocked at seeing a group of people surrounding his stasis pod.

"Hi," one of the men greeted, stepping forward and glancing at the young woman to John's right. "Welcome back."

Welcome back indeed. How long had he been in stasis? Was the solar flare soon? Where the hell was Rodney's hologram?

"Who are you?" he demanded, not used to seeing strangers in his city.

The man who had spoken seemed a bit put off by the abrupt question. He glanced at the woman again, then back to Sheppard.

"Maybe you'd like to come out of there, first," the woman suggested. "You've been in stasis for a long time. You could let Dr Webb check you over, and then we can answer your questions."

Suspicious now – Atlantis was supposed to be deserted, and where the hell was McKay? – John stepped down, though he didn't take his eyes off the men and women around him. Who the hell were they? Watching them intently, he turned and moved away, to the other side of the room.

"No, I think you should answer my questions first," he told them slowly. "Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in Atlantis?"

The man in charge took a step towards him, hands up submissively. "Take it easy," he suggested. "We're not going to hurt you."

John laughed. "Wouldn't be the first time I've heard that," he told them, shifting his stance as if he were getting ready to run. None of them seemed to be armed, but who knew. And he didn't doubt there were others around, who weren't so lax in safety. "Just answer the damn question."

The guy nodded. "Okay, okay. My name's Daniel Fairfield. I'm the leader of an expedition to Atlantis." He gestured at the woman behind him. "This is Kate Thomas, and Reese Webb. We found you in stasis, and decided to bring you out, just in case."

Sheppard frowned. "In case of what, exactly?"

The man grinned. "In case we were right and you really are John Sheppard. Are you him?"

John gaped. "Depends on who's asking," He shrugged, and then looked around. "You wouldn't have happened to meet an annoying hologram in your travels, have you?"

"Um, no," Fairfield said slowly, starting to worry slightly for the man's sanity. But Kate moved forward excitedly.

"So it was true. Dr McKay really did create that program. And you really are John Sheppard."

Sheppard took a step back. "Sure. Why not? So, that hologram?"

The scientist – she had to be – suddenly lost her excitement, biting her lip. "Oh. Um, that system kind of overloaded seven hundred years ago." At Fairfield's curious glance, she shrugged. "I checked to see if there was anything in them we could use. Only they wouldn't -."

"Hang on," Sheppard interrupted. She had to be wrong. No way. McKay was a genius, and his hologram hadn't been far off. He would have taken that into account. But where was he? "Did you just say seven hundred years?"

"Ish," she allowed. "The sun's energy spiked. Atlantis lost a lot of systems which would have been useful…"

But Sheppard wasn't listening anymore. He looked away, trying to find some way to deny the blatantly obvious. Horror dawned inside, and he swallowed, feeling sick, nauseous. This could not be happening.

Fairfield's voice suddenly intruded on his haze. "Are you okay?" the expedition leader asked, and John looked up at him.

"No. No, I'm not okay." This was bad. "How long was I in stasis?"

The two doing all the speaking gave each other a worried glance. "Is that really necessary?" the woman asked. "I mean, we can put you back in and everything, if McKay's Theory was real."

He shook his head, feeling nauseous and dizzy and overwhelmed. "Just tell me. How long was I in stasis?" He paused, waiting, but the two just looked at each other again, as if they couldn't make a decision without consulting each other. His anger flared, fuelled by fear and apprehension. "Tell me!"

The woman jumped, and looked at him, worry in her eyes. But she licked her lips and answered him.

"Ah, about 1500 years."

* * *

Okay, just so you know... I wrote this story not having a spectacularly happy ending in mind. I guess you can figure out what that means. If you don't like the idea of it, then stick around anyways, I might be able to change your mind.

And if you really don't like the idea of it, then I won't hold it against you. Up to you if you want to keep reading or not.

But please do...


	2. Chapter 2: Lifeline

**Chapter 2: Lifeline **

Fairfield paused outside the room where Webb had set up shop, the doctor having modified the space to deal with a man just released from stasis.

Webb sat typing on a laptop, though he kept on throwing furtive glances as the bed that held their unexpected guest.

It had been three hours since they had pulled Sheppard out of stasis only to have him collapse on them when they had told him how long he had been in stasis, and Fairfield had been busy seeing everything else everyone had said he had to see. Word had spread unbelievable quickly about the discovery, so he had also spent the time answering the same questions over and over again. Was it true? Had they really found John Sheppard? Did he know where a weapon capable of destroying the hybrids was? Was he all their prayers answered?

Fairfield wanted to know the answers to those questions himself, but looking at Sheppard now, he wasn't sure the man was up to it. He had had to leave soon after Sheppard had collapsed, so he was still pretty much in the dark, and it wasn't looking like the sun was rising any time soon. At least the man had lost that horrified paleness, that intense shock and loss. But he didn't exactly invoke confidence, either, as he lay in the bed, out of the dirty black uniform and into blue infirmary garments, an IV in his arm, staring blankly ahead. He was clearly still lost.

Deciding there was no time like the present, Fairfield walked into the infirmary and over to Webb, who looked up as the leader entered. Sheppard too, flicked his eyes in Daniel's direction, a single fleeting movement before going back to staring into space. Well, at least the man was still in there.

"Hey, Fairfield," Webb said as he stood. "I can guess what you're here about."

The doctor flicked his eyes in the opposite direction to Sheppard, and the two men walked away to speak privately. Fairfield could feel Sheppard's eyes on his back as they moved away.

"How's he doing?" Daniel asked. Webb shrugged.

"Physically? He's perfectly healthy for a guy who was born nearly 50,000 years ago. He's as healthy as you or me." Webb glanced over Fairfield's shoulder at his patient. "Mentally… I'm worried. He hasn't said a word since he woke up. He just kind of stares. He's grieving, badly. And that's just cause he knows about his friends. I wouldn't recommend telling him about Earth just yet."

"Wasn't planning on it, Doc," Fairfield muttered. "So why'd he collapse if he's perfectly healthy?"

Webb shook his head. "Shock. I mean, he'd just come out of stasis, and I'm guessing it takes a bit to get everything back on line. And… I think something screwed up. With his stasis I mean. I think he was in for a lot longer than he was meant to be."

"What do you mean by that?" Fairfield asked with a frown. The doctor shrugged.

Webb looked at Sheppard again. "I think when the sun's energy spiked, his stasis changed as well. Kate told me about McKay's Last Theory. I think he missed his window to get back in time."

Well, that would be enough to screw with anyone. Thinking that over, Fairfield nodded. "Yeah, that would suck. Can I talk with him?"

"You can go ahead and try," Webb answered. "I just don't know if he's up to much talking at the moment."

Fairfield thanked him, and turned, walking over to Sheppard, trying to figure out what he was going to say. That he had to talk to the man, he had no doubt, but what in the world did you say to a legend?

He stopped by the bed and looked down at Sheppard. The man refused to look back, still staring into space. Just space that wasn't anywhere near Fairfield.

A little annoyed by that, the man shifted his stance. "You know, you're going to have to talk to us eventually," he told Sheppard, crossing his arms. "We brought you out of stasis for a reason, and we're not going to leave you alone until you help us out."

That seemed to get a reaction. The man turned to look at him, glaring angrily. "You should have left me in it," he spat quietly, before turning away. Well, it was a start, Fairfield guessed. Not much, but the man was definitely still in there.

Determined now, he grabbed the nearest stool and sat down beside the bed, foot tapping on the ground. "We went to a lot of trouble to get to Atlantis," he informed the man. "We were looking for a way to…" He paused, his throat constricting at his own grief. "We are looking for a weapon. Imagine our luck when we found you."

Nothing. Maybe insults worked better. Sighing, Fairfield decided to give it a go. "You know, I never expected a meeting with John Sheppard to be so… silent. I had heard you were a great soldier in your time. Now you just seem… pathetic."

Without a sound, Sheppard suddenly had him by the shirt, pulling him in close as he sat up, before lashing out at Fairfield with a hard right hook. The leader of the expedition saw stars as he fell off the chair to the floor.

Watching, Webb's jaw dropped, and he rushed to help Fairfield, or restrain Sheppard, whichever was necessary. But he moved too slow. Before he had even left his computer, Sheppard had pulled the IV out of his hand, gotten out of the bed and was walking away.

Watching him leave, eyes still wide, Webb knelt to help Fairfield sit up; the man's lip was cut, a small trickle of blood dribbling down his chin. Shaking his head, Fairfield looked up at the doctor.

"Guess I got what I wanted, huh?"

* * *

Sheppard moved at a fast walk through the halls of Atlantis, ignoring the stunned, and sometimes awed expressions of the few people he passed. Apparently they all knew who he was, which annoyed the hell out of him, because these people weren't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to back in his own time, rescuing Teyla, stopping Ronon from destroying everyone in his attempts to go after the missing Athosian woman, and arguing with McKay over whatever knowledge was contained on that crystal the hologram had given him.

He still had the crystal, held tightly in his right hand. He had already checked to make sure it wasn't broken when he had hit that guy. That random stranger who couldn't even give him time to grieve.

But Sheppard knew. He knew without even being a genius, or asking someone who was, or even really thinking about it, because thinking about it hurt. But he knew.

He was never going back.

He had missed the window, and somehow he just doubted that any of these people, scientists or not, would be able to find the right solar flare that would send him back to Atlantis within two months of when he had disappeared. He wouldn't be able to save them all. Teyla, Ronon, Carter, Keller, McKay… They would all live with the knowledge that he had disappeared, had left them to their fate…

Or had lived.

Sheppard's bare feet carried him without him even being aware of where he was going, but it wasn't that much of a surprise to him that he ended up on the balcony outside the control room. How many people had he passed on his way? How many staring faces had he ignored?

He found he didn't care as once again he looked over the world and saw sand in the place of the vast ocean Atlantis had once floated upon. It shook the very breath from him.

Struggling to draw in air, he walked slowly from where he had paused by the door, moving towards the railing, suddenly really feeling as if he had been sleeping for 1500 years. Feeling old and drained and tired.

The shield kept the weather out, but the world outside was a sickened colour, and not just because the shield was that colour. He didn't know the details, but from what little he knew of stars, and from what Rodney's hologram had told him, this sun was dying.

He leaned against the rail, and for a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the waves crashing against the piers…

"I guess I should apologise."

Jumping, Sheppard opened his eyes and turned his head, finding the guy he had hit – Fairfield, that had been his name – standing just outside the door, looking uncomfortable, his lip swelling.

Still angry with Fairfield, he turned back, watching the way the red of the sun and the blue of the shield intersected. Watching the way the sand shimmered beyond the safety of Atlantis. Trying to find a small sense of familiarity when so much of what he had known was dead, buried and dust more than 40,000 years before he had come through the Stargate to find himself in the future.

He shifted slightly as Fairfield cleared his throat and joined him by the rail, looking out over the city and the desert. "I am sorry for what I said," the man told him. "But we really do need your help, and we don't have much time."

Sheppard laughed. "Time? Time is exactly the problem. I shouldn't be in this _time_."

"That may be so," Fairfield told him quietly, leaning over the rail with him. "But you are. And we could really use your help."

Sheppard looked at him for the first time, studying the man who had woken him up. Saw, for the first time, the desperation in his eyes. The hope battling it. Strain that bowed the other man's shoulders, the burden of responsibility. Yeah, Sheppard knew what that felt like, could still feel it battling vainly inside of him.

"50,000 years and humans still haven't found a way to stop fighting?" he asked softly, looking back at the city. Fairfield shrugged.

"We did. For a long time, there was peace. It just didn't last. And now… now we're desperate."

"And you came to Atlantis looking for answers?" He gave a soft chuckle. "That's exactly what we did. Instead we woke up a whole new threat." Well, technically he had, but there was no need to go into that now.

Fairfield nodded. "I know. Believe me, I know." He gave a small grin. "In fact, back home, that's all legend. People tell tales of the Atlantis expedition. Of how you fought the Wraith, and the Replicators, and Michael and his hybrids."

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably again. "You don't need to go over it with me," he told the other man harshly. "I was there. I remember." He sounded a little embarrassed by the idea of stories about him.

"I know," Fairfield nodded. "That's why, when we found you, and realized who you must be… We had to wake you up. The knowledge you must have… It could be enough to win the war."

Sheppard stood up straight and turned to look at him, annoyance casting a shadow over his face. "No, it couldn't. I missed at least 48,000 years of history! What I know is from a time so long ago that everything from it, except this city, is gone. Gone! Don't you people get that! I don't _belong_ here, now. What I know could have saved the past, but it sure as hell won't save the present!"

Fairfield watched him, watched the frustration and shook his head. "You might be more help than you know," he told Sheppard after the man had stopped.

"And how is that?" the pilot demanded. "Please, tell me, cause I would really, really like to know."

Fairfield shrugged. "You know the enemy."

Sheppard's face fell, and he took a step back, shaking his head. "No, it's not. It's been 50,000 years, it can't be."

That desperation made its way from Fairfield's eyes to his face. "They left us alone for a long time, because they couldn't find us. But eventually they did. And since then, Michael and his hybrids have been systematically destroying every human life they can find."

* * *

Oh no...


	3. Chapter 3: Michael

**Chapter 3: Michael **

Michael and his hybrids.

Sheppard zoned out after he heard those words, every bit of despair and frustration being pushed aside for a need for revenge so all-consuming that he felt as if his very bones were suddenly on fire.

Michael.

The Wraith who had started all this. The Wraith that had taken Teyla, and gotten Ronon and Carter, and Keller killed, the Wraith who had made Rodney want to give up the last half of his life in an effort to stop the bastard's hunger for his own vengeance.

The thought of wrapping his fingers around Michael's throat was almost too good to bear.

"Sheppard?"

Fairfield's voice shattered the red haze that had taken him, and he opened his eyes to see the man looking at him with worry. He realized he was shaking, his fist tight around the crystal, his nails on the other close to breaking the skin. What he didn't realize was that Fairfield's worry was partly for self-preservation. Sheppard couldn't see the sudden fire in his own eyes, see the thirst for revenge dancing across his face, bringing him more to life than he had been since coming out of stasis.

Didn't see the thought that flashed across his face, the thought that if maybe, just maybe, he could kill Michael here and now, it would nearly make up for not being able to return to the past and destroy him then and there.

"Sheppard?" Fairfield asked again, close to calling for someone else. The man looked like he was about to murder someone. And considering Fairfield was the only one in close proximity…

"I'm okay," Sheppard suddenly told him, though he still looked angry, and spaced. His voice sounded like it was coming from far off. "It's just… Michael."

He all but snarled the word, and Fairfield suddenly hoped he never got on the wrong side of this man. Hell, after insulting Sheppard earlier, he was realizing that he was probably lucky to be alive.

Fairfield nodded as if he understood anything. "Yeah, Michael. You're not the only one from then that's still around. Which is why we could use your help. You know Michael, you were around when he appeared. You can let us know his weaknesses, his strengths. You could give us a huge tactical advantage."

Sheppard was still shaking. "Advantage… right." Well, there was no way he was getting back to his own time. Maybe he could still kill Michael though. Yeah, he could still do that. "I can do that."

Fairfield seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, grinning as he did. "You have no idea how pleased my people will be to see one of the original Atlanteans."

That made Sheppard shift uncomfortably, but he tried not to think about it. The truth was, he had no plans to go back to Earth with Fairfield. Not unless it led right to Michael. That was the only place he was going, the only thing left that he could do.

Fairfield watched Sheppard go quiet again, and shifted, not wanting the guy to have another meltdown on him.

"Um, anyway, Webb's probably getting worried," he said, pulling Sheppard out of his daze. The man looked up at him, confused. "The doctor? He wants to keep a close eye on you, make sure there's no lasting effects from the stasis. Think you're ready to go back there."

Sheppard watched him for a moment, thoughts going a million miles an hour behind those piercing eyes. Then he nodded, dropping his head as he lost some of that anger that had Fairfield a little worried.

"Sounds like someone I knew," he muttered. Someone else gone to dust and ash a long time ago.

But no matter what happened, Michael would pay.

* * *

"How is he?" Kate asked as she sat down opposite Fairfield in the mess hall, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the goo that passed for food here.

He knew who she was talking about instantly. He shook his head. "I'm not sure," he told her. "Physically… well, Webb says he fine, and he looks healthy enough. But he's… different than I expected."

She raised one eyebrow. "Different how? Different to the stories about him?" Fairfield shrugged and she smirked at him. "Don't forget it's been a very long time since those stories actually happened. Some things are bound to be different."

"The only way I could get him to talk was to insult him," Fairfield informed her. She grinned.

"I figured that was where you got that from," she said, indicating the split lip. "No one else here would have the balls to hit you, you're too good."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment. But that's not my point." He lowered his voice. "He's damaged goods, Kate. I mean, how do we know he's even really John Sheppard? He could be some random for all we know, pretending. Hell, he might even be crazy. I told him about Michael today and he basically had an anger overload."

Kate put her fork down with deliberate force. "Daniel, I know it's your job as expedition leader to be paranoid, but seriously? Stop it. I'm convinced the man really is Sheppard. And be a little sensitive! The man just found out he can never get home. How would you feel?"

Fairfield was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. "Pissed," he muttered. "Sorry. I know. But Atlantis was meant to hold all our hopes. But we've been here two days and we haven't found anything that looks like a weapon. And when we finally do find something, it's a legend with anger issues."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Daniel, you're impossible. You never find a silver lining. Even if Sheppard doesn't know where a weapon is, he will definitely be a big help in looking. You know the stories."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" he asked, leaning back. Kate shrugged.

"Well, the stories say he was the strongest person around with the Ancient gene. And you know none of us have it. Having him around will definitely help make finding and working things easier. We'll be able to get systems on line -."

"Or we would if we had a strong enough power source," Fairfield cut in darkly, leaning forward again. Kate lost her own good nature, and nodded morosely.

"If we had a power source that wasn't nearly depleted," she agreed. "But he might know of a place within reach of jumper where we can find Modules, and then fly us there." She grinned again, though it was only at half the intensity of before. "Just think. Sheppard might be the last person in the universe with the Ancient gene… and we just found him."

* * *

"So what's Michael been up to in the last 50,000 years?" Sheppard asked, looking up at Fairfield as the doctor took what the pilot hoped was the last vial of blood before he could go find somewhere to bunk down.

Fairfield shrugged, not expecting the question so soon. A warning look from Webb, somehow missed by Sheppard, told him to be careful what he said.

"The last 50,000 years? I'm not really sure. I can give you a brief history, but we managed to hide from his army for a long time, and he didn't find us until a few hundred years ago. Since than, it's been all out warfare, trying to stop him from reaching home."

Sheppard nodded. "And just after I disappeared? What happened? Do you know why Atlantis was abandoned?"

Fairfield nodded, moving out of the way so Webb could take the vial and run his tests. "It was abandoned a hundred or so years after you disappeared. It was a long time ago, so the exact dates are hard to figure out. But the why was recorded. Michael had as big a stronghold on this galaxy as the Wraith did when the Ancients abandoned it 10,000 years before you found it. Atlantis was the only place still held by humans. Everywhere else was devastated – men turned into hybrids, and everyone else killed. Millions were slaughtered. And then… the government decided Atlantis wasn't worth it anymore. It was costing them too much, and too many people were dying to keep a hold of it."

Sheppard's anger was palpable. "So they left the Pegasus galaxy to fend for itself." He shook his head. "Of course they did." He hit the bed he was sitting in. "What happened after that?"

"No idea," Fairfield told him. "We didn't hear anything from Michael until he turned up in our galaxy a few hundred years ago."

Sheppard shook his head, that immense sense of loss making his chest ache. "How is he even still alive? I would have thought he lost his long life when he turned part human."

"That we do know," Webb said as he reappeared. "We've caught a few hybrids before, and after a while, they're most willing to answer a few questions for us." He looked to Fairfield, who nodded. Which made Sheppard scowl, realizing the man was only letting him know a few details. But he didn't say anything. Yet. Webb continued.

"Apparently Michael still hibernates, for years at a time. We figure that was why it took him so long to find home. He kept the Wraith ability to go years in a sort of stasis before the need for food wakes him. And then he goes on another rampage, killing people, even when he doesn't need to feed on them. This is just senseless killing. He doesn't need them, he just kills them. It's hard to understand."

Fairfield shook his head. "Actually, Michael is just a conundrum full stop. We don't know why he tried to make himself part human, why he abandoned the Wraith for this hybrid army." Sheppard tried not to shift. So not everything had been made public, he realized. "That's where we're hoping you'll come in. You were around when he let loose the plague, when he started taking over. Hopefully you'll know some of his secrets."

They had no clue. He looked up at them, trying not to let the guilt show on his face. They had no idea that it had been them, that it had been Atlantis that had created the monster that would destroy the Pegasus galaxy. And if he wanted his own revenge, they had to remain clueless. He nodded. "I'll help out in any way I can. But first you need to let me know some things."

This time he spotted the quick exchange between Fairfield and Webb, but decided to ignore it. Let them keep their secrets, as long as it didn't interfere with his own thirst. "How big is Michael's army now? Where does he hide out? Is he in hibernation now? What kind of weapons do they have? What kind of weapons do you have? Spaceships? Your own army? Cause just bringing down Michael may not be enough, you'll probably have his whole hybrid army to deal with. And from what I remember, those things are hard to kill."

Fairfield seemed taken aback. "That is a lot of questions, and most of it I can't answer off the top of my head. Not at the moment anyway. As soon as Webb decides you're healthy, I'll fill you in."

Sheppard growled. "I am healthy. And if it's all right with you, I want to take down this bastard sooner, rather than later. Like before he finds Earth and destroys it like he destroyed the Pegasus galaxy."

Fairfield looked at Webb, who shrugged. "He is healthy," the doctor admitted. "I just want to keep a close eye on him."

"Him is right here," Sheppard interrupted. "And you can do that. Where am I going to go? Outside the radiation is no doubt lethal by now. And every other planet is empty, you said." He got a sour look on his face. "Every ally I had in this galaxy is gone, a hell of a long time ago. I've got nowhere else to go."

Webb nodded slowly. "Okay. You can go then. But I want you back here twice a day for check ups. We don't know what the stasis might have done, especially considering something happened to the power while you were in it."

Not needing the reminder of how his stasis had screwed up, Sheppard nodded and swung his feet off the bed. Looking down at the scrubs he was wearing, he grimaced, and stared up at Fairfield.

"Got any clothes I can borrow?"

* * *

As soon as he was dressed in the now clean clothes he had been found in, Fairfield escorted Sheppard to where he had set up his temporary office. He could see the memories flitting across the man's face as he walked through corridor after corridor, through halls and doors, past rooms and labs that held so much meaning for John that that ache in his chest just grew.

It also meant he didn't see the stares of the people as he went past, the ones that said all their dreams had come true.

In the end, Fairfield led him up through the control room and into the office which had once been used by both of his commanders, Doctor Elizabeth Weir and Colonel Samantha Carter. Both of whom he had lost to the enemy. How many friends had he lost to the enemy?

He paused at the door, trying to force down those memories, swallowing as he took another step inside. He could do this. It was just so hard.

"This can't be easy."

A little startled, Sheppard glared at the office's current occupier, wondering at the way he wanted to talk. As in, actually talk. "You're not a military man, are you Fairfield," he realized, before sitting down in a chair opposite the man's.

A shadow flickered across Fairfield's face. "Back home, everyone's military," he told Sheppard tightly. "Because if they're not, they die."

Sheppard nodded, slight understanding softening his face. "Sorry. I can't get my head around the fact that it's been 50,000 years since… my last memory." He gave a shrug. "I have no idea how much everything's changed."

Fairfield gave a mirthless laugh. "You don't know the half of it, Sheppard. Since Michael found us, the world's turned upside down. Kids are taught to fear, to fight, to hide. Our cities are gone, our outposts undermanned and over-gunned. Our allies are just as pressured, unable to help us."

Sheppard leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "Wasn't there anything useful in the Asgard databse? And what about the Jaffa? The Tok'ra? They're all… what? Busy?"

Fairfield frowned. "Who?"

Sheppard rubbed his face. "They were the allies Earth had when I was… around." How else could he explain it? "The Asgard, the Jaffa and the Tok'ra. But I'm guessing they're not around anymore." At Fairfield's head shake, he sighed. "The Asgard taught us to make space ships before they became extinct, and the Tok'ra were our first allies against the Goa'uld. No? No clue?"

"The Goa'uld were destroyed so long ago they barely get into the stories. It's Atlantis that held most of our attention. But if the Asgard taught us shipbuilding, then we owe them a lot of thanks." He smiled at Sheppard's disbelief. "I guess a lot never makes into the history books, does it?"

"I guess so," Sheppard told him, shocked. "I mean, the Goa'uld were a huge threat to Earth long before we even found Atlantis." He shook his head and leaned back again. "But I guess it doesn't matter. You're right, the Goa'uld aren't a problem. Can you tell me the answers to those questions now?"

Fairfield nodded, sprawling over his chair. "What was it you wanted to know?"

Sheppard thought about that for a moment. What was it he really wanted to know? "How's our side going? Obviously weapons aren't a problem if your outposts are over-gunned. But you said they were undermanned as well?"

Fairfield nodded. "We're spread pretty thin. We lose an outpost a month. Some we have to give up, others are taken. But weapons aren't really a problem, no. And I wasn't joking about thanking the Asgard. Because we have plenty of ships, and people who are well experienced in flying them."

Sheppard was impressed. "That's good. We'll probably need them. From what McKay told me when he met me…" He paused, licking his lips. "Michael took every Hive ship, right? And no doubt he could build more." He was talking to himself, rather than asking any specific questions. "Did you combine any Ancient technology into the ships?"

Fairfield shifted on his seat. "It wouldn't do us any good. They found Ancient ships before abandoning Atlantis, but now… no one has the gene. It hasn't helped us here. And I don't know what they did with them."

The pilot frowned. "None of you have the gene. How are you running Atlantis then?"

Fairfield gave another chuckle. "Not easily, let me tell you. There's so much here we can't use. And not just because we don't have the gene. We don't have enough power, either."

"Déjà vu," Sheppard muttered. "What about the ZPM?"

"The what?"

"The thing that powers this place," he explained. "Zero Point Module? Orange looking crystal thing."

"We just call them Modules," Fairfield told him. "And yeah, we have one, salvaged it. But it's nearly drained, not nearly enough to fuel anything more than it is. The shield's really draining it."

Sheppard nodded. "So you need more." He got a thoughtful look, before leaning forward. "I might be able to help with that as well."


	4. Chapter 4: No Man's Land

**Author's Note:** Sorry about not posting last night, I came home from work... only thing is the home I went to was a three hour trip away so by the time I got there, way too late to post... anyways, here's the next chapter, hope you like it!

* * *

**Chapter 4: No Man's Land**

"Your biggest problem is power and weapons."

Sheppard looked around the room, the very same room he and his friends had placed their meetings. The similarities between then and now were unsettling.

It was three hours after Fairfield had filled him in on all the details he had needed. The leader had called a meeting soon after, and now the various members he had called sat around the table, watching Sheppard. Webb, and the scientist he had met earlier sat closest to where he stood, but another three, as well as Fairfield, watched with just as much concentration.

"If you had some more ZPMs – what you call Modules – then you could use this place to defend, fly, shield, cloak, almost anything you can think of."

"But we don't have the gene," one of the men interrupted. Sheppard thought Fairfield had introduced him as Goldman.

"True," Sheppard acknowledged. "But back in my time, a lot of our people didn't have the gene either. A doctor, the very doctor who discovered the gene in the first place, he found a way to give people the gene. I'm hoping you can too."

"How?" the woman next to Goldman asked. Jennifer Howard. Sheppard frowned at her.

"Do I look like some kind of doctor?" he asked. "I have no idea how Beckett did it. Something about a mouse retrovirus, I think. I never paid much attention cause I already had it. And I guess gene therapy hasn't come very far in 50,000 years?"

None of them said anything for a moment. And then Goldman spoke up again. "So, until then, what are we meant to do?"

"Like I said, I do have the gene. I can turn things on for you. A lot of the equipment in here only needs to be turned on by the gene. Then anyone can use it."

"And everything else?" Goldman asked, suspiciousness coming through.

"For a while, until the gene therapy gets a chance, I can work it for you." He sat down opposite the man, not used to having explain himself. For so long he had been in charge, and now he had to reassert his authority.

"So we'll be in your hands?" Goldman asked, looking at the man sitting next to him. "How do we know we can trust you?"

Sheppard leaned back in his chair. "You'll just have to," he told the man. "There's not much you'd be able to do about it. Except lock me up. But wait, even the cells need someone with the gene to turn them on." He grinned mischievously at the man, not letting it reach his eyes. "You need me, Goldman. So… trust me."

He turned to face everyone. "Getting back to what I was saying," he continued. "If you had a few more ZPMs, then this city would give you enough edge to challenge Michael."

"Is it really that powerful?" Webb asked, and Sheppard nodded. Fairfield had asked the same question earlier.

"If it's loaded with drones, it is. Give it three full ZPMs, it can shield itself for 10,000 years against a sea of water all around. It can fly, make its way through hyperspace…" He grinned again. "This entire city is a spaceship."

"Or it would be if we had some power," the last man spoke up, sharing another look with Goldman. Sheppard nodded.

"See, that's where my knowledge comes in," he told him. What was his name again? Lynch. That was it. "I know where we can find some ZPMs. I know where we can find some drones, for the weapons chair. If the hybrids haven't cleared them out. But I doubt it. They never used Ancient technology like drones and ZPMs."

"So where? And how do we get them?" Goldman asked. This time it was Fairfield who answered first.

"We can find the drones on a planet I visited with my team once." A planet where they had caused an uprising. But no need to mention that. "There should still be some there. But the more important things are the Modules. And they could possibly be more difficult," Sheppard told them with a short nod. "I know of a couple of places with ZPMs, or places that had ZPMs. I don't know if they're still there or not. But it's worth checking out."

Lynch leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "I know a place that should have a huge stockpile of Modules," he told Sheppard.

That got his attention. Leaning forward as well, he caught the man's eye and didn't let it drop, excitement making its way up from his stomach. "You do? Where?" Fairfield looked like he wanted to know as well.

"The Replicator home world."

Had he said excitement? More than a little stunned that that little titbit had slipped through history, Sheppard leaned back again, shaking his head. "Uh, we destroyed it. A long, long, _long_ time ago. The Replicators were giving everyone hell. We teamed up with the Wraith and destroyed their planet."

Goldman sneered. "We know. But a few months later you disappeared. And then a few months after that Atlantis got word that the Replicators were still out there. That they were rebuilding their world. The arrogant bastards even put it in the same place as before."

Well he hadn't been expecting that. Why hadn't Rodney's hologram told him? Was it on the crystal that he hadn't shown them yet? "And you know for sure their Stargate is still there?"

"Not for sure," Goldman acknowledged with a shake of his head. "But it doesn't take much to find out. All you have to do is activate the Stargate with your gene, tap in the address and we'll be on our way."

Sheppard frowned at him, and then looked at Fairfield. "Wait a minute. The Stargate isn't active?"

For the first time, the scientist, Thomas, spoke up. "No, it isn't. Obviously it let us through but we haven't been able to travel off world. The only things we could access was what was already on. Life support, the stasis chambers, the Module room… nearly everything else has been closed off to us."

"And how were you planning on getting home?" he asked, looking around. They should have known, especially considering none of them had the gene.

"We've got ships on the way," Fairfield told him. "They'll be here in two weeks. Three of them, the biggest, fastest, most powerful ships we have."

"Well, I'm glad of that," Sheppard said sarcastically. "And if you had found a problem when you got here? Say, life support was off. Or the city was buried beneath a ton of sand and all the extra energy you suddenly used made the shield fail. What would you have done then?"

"Hey!" Fairfield cried, leaning forward and scowling at him. "We're not idiots. We sent through a probe to check life support and everything. And we knew it was a dangerous mission. Just like your expedition did. I remember reading somewhere that you all nearly drowned."

Sheppard turned to him, his own anger rising. "Yeah, but we had team members with the damn gene," he argued back. "We knew we would be able to access the Ancient devices, because we had the smartest people on Earth with us. None of you have the gene. Coming here was -."

"Desperate," Fairfield interrupted in a growl. Sheppard shook his head, not dissuaded.

"Well, I was going to say stupid. Reckless. If, like my expedition, you are all the smartest people on Earth, then you just left our planet with next to no hope, because you could have been stuck here."

Fairfield nodded. "Maybe so. But a, if we hadn't come here than our planet wouldn't have any hope anyway. And b, it doesn't matter. Because that didn't happen, and now we do have someone who can activate the Stargate. So we can get more Modules, and, if we have to, gate back."

Sheppard shook his head again, but left it alone. Fairfield was right. And he was still hurting that he had failed his friends. No reason to take it out on these folks. "Okay. It doesn't matter." He leaned back, trying to relax. "But going to the Replicator home world might not exactly be the best plan."

"Why not?" Goldman asked.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill a Replicator? It was hard enough in my time. I'm sure they've evolved into something worse."

Goldman shook his head. "They're all dead. Michael wiped them out. Called them an abomination. The last Replicator was seen more than 30,000 years ago. None have been seen since, in any form. They're gone."

"Do you know for sure?" Sheppard asked. "I mean, those bastards were sneaky. They could have been hiding everywhere."

Fairfield frowned. "Don't you mean anywhere?"

Sheppard snorted. "If you knew the Replicators, you wouldn't have to ask that. I mean everywhere. The speed they learnt at… like I said, sneaky."

Lynch nodded, and Sheppard was quickly becoming aware that he and Goldman had to be the intelligence sector. They seemed to know everything.

"From what we read, they were," Lynch agreed. "But Michael's scientists, hell, Michael himself, they were sneakier. Smarter. They reprogrammed the Replicators to turn on each other. There was a huge war on their planet. I heard they destroyed most of it, before taking the battle to space. From there they systematically wiped themselves out."

Why hadn't McKay thought of that? Sheppard digested this information, wishing he still had the opportunity to return to his time. Maybe he could speak to Thomas, see what she knew about solar flares.

"Okay, so the Replicators are gone. You think their ZPMs are still there?" he asked, looking up. Lynch shared a look with Goldman, who nodded.

"We do. It's worth a look at least. It's a safer bet than planets you knew had one or two 50,000 years ago."

Sheppard gave him a hard look, hearing the cynicism in the man's voice. Goldman still didn't trust him. Probably never would. What did he care?

"Okay. I'll take you to the Replicator planet. When do you want to leave?"

Fairfield nodded, dropping his pen and closing the folder before him. "Day after tomorrow. If we can get some systems on line, like the Stargate, power control, those kinds of things, then we can start trying to save some of the power we already have. And maybe you can start telling us what you know about Michael between now and then."

Leaning back in his chair once more, Sheppard nodded, knowing that Goldman would be there for that. No doubt about it.

"I'll tell you everything I know about him." Or almost everything. They didn't need to know he had been among the team to create Michael. "And then I can teach you about Atlantis as well."

* * *

Since finding out he had somehow travelled 48,000 years into the future, he had not once thought he would crave solitude so much. But after a few hours talking with Fairfield and Goldman, he had to get away.

Declaring a break, he had stood and walked out of the conference room before they had a chance to stop him, or say no. Frustrated, tired and hungry, he had ignored the looks from everyone in the control room, the wide mouths, the way they went still, the way their eyes followed him almost reverently. They truly thought he was their saviour.

And all he wanted to do was rip Michael limb from limb.

So he had left the two men, needing to be alone so badly that if he hadn't left he would have hit them. Not that there was anything wrong with them. Under any other circumstances, he thought he would have at least respected them. Well, Fairfield, at least. Goldman was another thing. But they were all right, really. They just all had one problem.

They weren't his friends. They weren't Teyla, or McKay, or Ronon, or Lorne, or Zelenka, or Carter, or Weir, or Keller, or Beckett, or any of those people he would kill to see.

And damn, but that hurt like a bitch.

Atlantis seemed… different without them. The corridors were the same, the doors still opened when he swiped a hand in front of the panel, and it still felt like home. But this home was empty, fading, leaving him feeling like he was dying. Hell, the very city felt like it was dying with him.

The corridors were empty around him, for which he was glad. He still knew exactly where he was going, even after 50,000 years. Not that it felt like that long – to him, it felt like merely days. Coming through the Stargate to find Atlantis deserted, a day later going into stasis, waking up the next morning to be found by Fairfield's team. Two or three days during which 50,000 years had passed.

His old quarters seemed to be in an abandoned part of the city. At least, abandoned by the current expedition. He guessed they had doubted it held any weapon of mass destruction. Swiping the panel, he took a deep breath as the doors opened.

It was as empty as the rest of Atlantis. For a brief second he wondered what had happened to his belongings, before he shoved that thought away. He couldn't think about those things, or he would lose it.

Licking his lips, he tried to make his foot step forward, but for the moment he seemed rooted, just staring at his faded life. The room seemed to sum up exactly how he felt. Empty, cold, barren, overlaid with thousands of years of nothingness. There was no dust, like there wasn't even grey on his head, even though it had been thousands and thousands of years since either him or the room had seen company. For a moment the thought of how many people had stayed in this room since he had disappeared threatened to overwhelm him, but he reined that thought in, taking another deep breath, forcing feeling back into his feet. He had to do this.

He stepped inside before he could talk himself out of this, and the doors closed behind him. He looked around his old room, and the reality of his situation, the full reality of how screwed he really was, it all hit home.

Chest tightening, he managed to get a foot from his bed before his knees gave way and he had to sit down. Arms hanging onto the bed he used to sleep in, his fists tightened in the covers that looked like he had just made them, even though the last time he had made them had been…

God dammit, 50,000 years.

Taking a huge breath, trying to breathe, trying to get oxygen into his suddenly starving lungs, he bowed his head, shifting his legs so he wasn't sitting on them. Half sprawled on the floor, he felt, or rather, let the tears come.

They didn't come fast, or heavy, and they didn't choke him up. They were slow, and steady, and impossible to ignore. They were everything that was inside that knot in his heart. And it was despair. It was anger, that he had to suffer this after he had suffered so much. It was grief, for the friends he would never see again, never touch, never hold. It was the lives unlived, the lives lost, the life he would never live, because he was stuck in a time that he had never once felt the need to consider because it was just such a long time away. It was the ache in his chest that felt like it was slowly suffocating him with the damn pain of failure, and hopelessness, and loss.

It was loneliness and dammit, it hurt.

* * *

Oh, poor Sheppard!


	5. Chapter 5: Critical Mass

**Author's Note:** Sorry again, I didn't post last night, because... well, it was because I forgot to, but I did have to pick my sister up from the train station, and do all this other stuff when I got home, so I have some excuse...

If it makes you feel any better, this chapter is getting towards the action! Hope you likies!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Critical Mass**

Sheppard had to say, weapons hadn't really come a long way in 50,000 years.

Not to say he wasn't happy with the weapon Fairfield supplied him with. The S-20 looked a lot like a P-90, except, he was informed, it fired rounds that reminded him of the cartridges that Ronon had used for his own awesome gun. Some kind of energy weapon, but he wasn't sure on the specifics. The man who had shown him how to use it had begun to explain the details, but he had fired at the target, hit it, and proceeded to tell the soldier he didn't really care how it worked, as long as it did.

It was finally two days later, and apparently Fairfield was sick of discussing tactics and weaknesses. Mainly because Sheppard had informed them that all their tactics sucked and that Michael didn't really have any weaknesses.

None of them had been really happy about either point.

But he didn't care. After 50,000 years and three days, he was finally going off world, and he couldn't have been happier. He hadn't gone back to his old quarters since… not crying in them, but it seemed everywhere he went, he was reminded of all he had lost. For the first time since coming to this amazing city, Atlantis felt oppressive to him. It felt old, and tired, and depressing.

And if the trouble he was having getting systems on line was any indication, the city felt the same way. He could sympathize: it was, after all, a couple of million years older than he was, and at the ripe old age of 50,000, he felt a little out of sorts.

The Stargate activating almost made him jump, and he realized he had been deep in thought as Kate Thomas had dialled the co-ordinates to the Replicator home world. No one seemed to have noticed though, not even Goldman as he stared unabashedly at Sheppard. The man still didn't trust him. Sheppard just ignored the man, hoping he wouldn't keep it up during this mission.

"Try and be back in three hours," Fairfield suddenly called from the balcony, and this time Sheppard visibly flinched as memories of Weir and Carter in the same position passed before his eyes. No one seemed to have noticed though.

"The probe showed no life signs, but the planet is safe. Air's breathable, gravity's fine. Apparently whatever made the Replicators abandon their planet has passed." Sheppard nodded, wishing the man would hurry up. They already knew this, it had been explained in the briefing.

Maybe Fairfield caught some of the attitude, because he nodded, and leaned down on the balcony. "Good luck. See you in a couple of hours."

Goldman nodded, but Sheppard just turned away, touching the S-20 to reassure himself. Knowing he wasn't in charge of this mission – and finding that the hardest concept to wrap his head around – he waited for Goldman to move off.

He didn't wait long, and then he was moving, a smile flitting across his face as his hand touched the event horizon. Relaxed now, and happy to be back in the saddle, he stepped across the threshold and onto another planet.

Too bad the Replicator gate room still looked exactly like the one at Atlantis. Until he looked behind him anyway. Not that he did, but he could remember. The damn bastards really had done everything exactly the same.

The city gave off the same sense of abandonment as the one they had all just left, and, moving out, S-20 at his shoulder, Sheppard couldn't help but shiver. This entire galaxy was dead, he didn't doubt it, but surely it all wouldn't feel this way?

There was no movement anywhere, but the lights were on, the door panels glowed and outside the sun was shining brightly, obviously still a long way off from dying like Atlantis' sun was.

He pulled a life signs detector out of a pocket and switched it on. The beeping attracted Goldman's attention, and the man walked over, glancing at the small device.

"Anything about?" Goldman asked, having already been introduced to the detector. Sheppard shook his head.

"This isn't picking up any life signs. I guess that's a good thing." He looked around and pulled a second detector out from a pocket, putting the LSD away. "Hopefully this will pick up the ZPMs and we can be on our merry way."

Goldman nodded at him, and called out to his men. "Move out!"

Sheppard led the way, following the readings on the detector in his hand. He and the five other men with him each carried a pack to put an individual ZPM in, and they were hoping they could find that many. John grinned as he glanced down at the energy readings again. According to this they could find that many and a hell of a lot more.

"It's a good thing you knew about this place," Sheppard suddenly told Goldman. The man was walking next to him, keeping an eye out for anything… sneaky. "If you want to stay in Atlantis, the amount of ZPMs in this city will keep her going for millennia."

Goldman nodded, a ghost of a smile coming across. "I'm glad about that, Sheppard. If the city's as powerful as you say it is, it could be a big help."

The pilot grinned at the man. "You have no idea, Goldman. Atlantis has survived a few Wraith attacks, 10,000 years undersea, a Replicator incursion and a flight from the Milky Way to Pegasus." He nodded, more to himself than anyone. "She's powerful enough. Come on. The closest ZPM is down here."

* * *

Within an hour they had three ZPMs, and for the first time in a heck of a long time, Sheppard felt good. They would load up on ZPMs, get Atlantis in working condition, challenge Michael, and then he could kill him. The whole plan was starting to look possible, as simple as it was.

Of course, that was when he heard it.

It sounded like a ship. He rocked to a halt, looking around, knowing he was sensing right, knowing they weren't alone on this abandoned planet anymore. Licking his lips, he moved to a window and looked out at the clear blue skies, searching them with trained eyes.

A ripple in the very air caught his attention, a slight shift in the sky, only brief, but long enough. For someone who knew cloaking technology well, it was long enough.

Swearing, he turned away from the window, ignoring the others as they suddenly paused, realizing he wasn't with them. He pocketed the energy detector and pulled out the life signs detector, swearing once more when the device brought up way too many dots.

"Sheppard, what is it?" Goldman demanded, his grip tight on his weapon. Sheppard shook his head.

"We've got company. A dozen or so living things surrounding us and at least one cloaked ship outside." If it was who he thought it was, and if he knew Michael, the ex-Wraith would have sent more. A lot more. "We need to get back to the Gate. Come on!"

He took off at a run, knowing the way like the back of his hand. As a guy who typically got into these kinds of situations, a good sense of direction was paramount. The other five men quickly followed.

Sheppard kept one eye on the detector and another on where his feet were stepping, desperate to figure out how they would all get through the Stargate without being caught by Michael, or killed. More dots kept appearing on the device in his hand, another five, ten, so many of them it was going to be impossible to get out.

They were close to the Gate room now, he realized as he looked around. And then he swore, seeing dozens of dots standing still in the room that represented the Gate room on the life signs detector. Stopping within two strides, he looked around, trying to remember the way. But it had been so long…

Without warning a group of… they looked like men, turned the corner ahead, bringing weapons up as they sighted the Atlantis team.

Sheppard reacted instinctively, and he wasn't the only one. Trying to keep a hold of the life signs detector, he pulled his own weapon up and pulled the trigger back, moving to the side as the rounds hit their target. One of the enemy dropped, and another took its place.

Someone cried out behind him, but Sheppard didn't look back to see who had been hit. Chancing a glance at the detector, he was relieved to see the men weren't an inexhaustible lot, but they were many, and he quickly realized targeting one at a time just wasn't going to cut it. Standing up straight and moving back, he pulled again on the trigger and kept his hold there, moving the aim ever so slightly as the bullets, for lack of a better word, rained on the men up the hallway.

And then there was silence, and the last of their opposition was down and out for the count. Breathing a little heavily, Sheppard turned to the group, where one of the men was down, still conscious, but he had a black mark on his side, and it looked painful. Knowing there was nothing they could do for him here, he bit his lip then shook his head.

"Come on," he told them, moving back the way he had come, but turning left where they had gone straight ahead. Soon after that he led the men up some stairs, his legs burning now. He had been asleep for 1500 years after all, he wasn't used to this type of exercise. But thankfully the path was clear, for now. He just hoped they were still there. Hell, he hoped the bay was still there.

The men behind him barely breathed heavily, excepting the one carrying the injured soldier, and somehow that forced him on, some of that competitiveness he had shared with Ronon, the one that would force him to go on and on until he was down and out, it flared inside of him, and he drew a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs.

The stairs ended and suddenly the jumper bay stretched before him. Laughing with relief, and anticipation, he didn't break stride, running more freely with the prospect of flying one of these again. And what was better, no one seemed to realize they were here.

"What are these things?" someone asked as Sheppard paused by one. The hatch was open, like they all were, and seemed untouched, even after thousands of years. "I saw some in Atlantis, and I thought I knew but I wasn't sure."

"They're jumpers," Goldman answered before Sheppard could, moving through the back hold to the co-pilot's seat. Sheppard stared at him and then nodded, continuing the explanation.

"Basically spaceships, airplanes and submarines all in one." He held his breath for a moment, probably not a good idea when he was struggling to breath as it was. "I just hope they still turn on."

In response to his very thoughts, the jumper shuddered on, and Sheppard gave Goldman a grin. To his surprise the man grinned back.

"Yeah, I've heard of them. And what they can do," Goldman told him. "There are stories."

Feeling elated, Sheppard inched the jumper forward and up, pulling the cloak up as he did. "Sometime I'll have to get you to tell me some of these stories," he admitted. "Everyone keeps talking about them. I have to say, I'm getting curious."

Above them the roof opened and the pilot accelerated, shooting up out of the central spire into the clear sky. Though the inertial dampeners prevented any feeling of motion, he couldn't help but feel the excited pull on his stomach as he flew faster than he ever had on Earth, at an angle that would have made any of his fellow pilots pass out in an ordinary human-made jet, out into space.

It made him feel alive.

Rocketing out, he tried to keep the jumper straight, not wanting to attract more attention than they already had by opening the roof on the jumper bay. As he did, the HUD came alive, showing him seven cloaked ships in the vicinity, all of them twice the size of the jumper.

"That is not good," Goldman stated in a dry voice, looking at the same display. "We'll never get past them all."

Sheppard nodded, watching the HUD with some kind of morbid fascination. "Yeah, you're probably right about that," he told Goldman, before turning to the man. "Good thing we don't want to go that way," he added, shifting the controls and levelling the jumper out.

"We don't?" Goldman demanded, looking behind him to check on his men. Sheppard shook his head.

"Nope. There isn't a Stargate close enough to make it to in the next, oh let's say, lifetime. Well, you're lifetime, considering I'm already 50,000 years old."

Goldman stared at him like he was deranged. "So why did we go up out of the roof then?" he asked, fingers twitching towards his weapon.

Sheppard ignored the movement. "Mostly I just wanted to fly again," he half-joked. "Do you know how long it's been since I could take one of these babies out?" he asked with a grin. His fingers danced over the controls. "You might want to hold onto something."

And he dove. The jumper's nose suddenly reached for the ground, speeding up. Goldman grabbed onto the chair he was sitting in, even though there was no feeling of diving associated with it. The central spire, so similar to the one at Atlantis, came closer and closer, the roof, small from this distance, slowly opening to let them through.

"Sheppard you're going too fast!" Goldman shouted, though there was no need in the silence of the groaning puddle jumper. Sheppard shook his head, and once more the HUD displayed images.

"We're going just fast enough," he told the man. "They spotted us just before we dived. They're readying weapons now."

"Maybe if you hadn't felt the need to dance around the bloody sky!" Goldman snapped as Sheppard suddenly twisted right, and a red light screamed past. "They're shooting at us!"

"You think I haven't realized that!" Sheppard growled back, all his concentration on lining up with the spire. "And yes I did need to go up, because they knew we were heading for the Stargate. I know what I'm doing, Goldman!"

He banked left, just avoiding another shot, and then wincing as something hit their rear, and hit it hard. The jumper shuddered, and sweat suddenly appeared on his brow, as he fought to control the ship.

Another shot hit the jumper, and the air around them rippled. Sheppard swore as he realized they were visible now. Goldman threw him a frantic look.

"Sheppard?" he asked, panic in his voice. The pilot just shook his head, ignoring the man, concentrating on keeping the jumper steady, and straight, lined up with the roof.

They took another hit and Sheppard realized they would never make it if they took another hit. Focus wavering, he nevertheless called on the weapons systems, breathing a sigh of relief as they came online. Sweat dripping down his temples, he clenched his fists, as if pushing the button in a fighter jet. At his command, four drones escaped their hold and rushed up into the sky.

The HUD flickered on again, though it was faint and unstable. Obviously something to do with that was damaged. But Sheppard ignored it, watching out of the corner of his eye as the four drones took out three of the ships firing at them.

"I'm guessing you did that," Goldman assessed unsteadily, his face pale, hands shaking. "Sheppard, you are one crazy bastard."

"Crazy's relative," he muttered back, letting loose another four drones, mere seconds before the jumper passed through the roof, not loosing speed. The floor beneath them opened up, and to Sheppard, so caught in the moment, it was as if time slowed down.

He never got to see the result of his drones, concentrating instead on what he had to do. He knew it was now or never. Licking his lips, he fired another two drones, aiming in front of him this time. And the central spire of the Replicator Atlantis exploded around them, hopefully causing enough distraction to whoever was guarding the gate. He had no clue what Michael's hybrids were capable of.

And then passing through the jumper bay, the HUD suddenly beeped, and Sheppard felt his gut drop, knowing exactly what that sound was. Knowing that he hadn't actually been going fast enough.

A second later a fourth shot hit above them.

Sparks flew, and Sheppard lost touch with the console as he raised his arms to protect his head. The jumper spun, out of control, and they hit the side of the tower, crashing hard before bouncing into something else and continuing ever downward, ever faster with the loss of control. Sheppard tried his hardest, concentrating so hard sweat popped up on his forehead. And then the ground slammed into them, and the jumper slid forward, suddenly horizontal. The sudden change in motion threw the passengers forward, and Sheppard felt his head crack on the glass that usually protected him from space, wind and water.

Another second later, sparks still flying, the jumper crashed into the side of the Gate room of the Replicator's version of Atlantis, skidding around to a halt, blackened and dead, against the Stargate.

Inside the jumper, Sheppard felt himself slide to the floor, his head splitting, blood filling his eyes. He dropped to the ground, rolling slightly, one shoulder still resting against the chair he had been sitting in. Darkness rolled into his sights, as he took a look at Goldman where he was draped, obviously unconscious, against the front of the jumper.

Fighting a vain battle to stay conscious, Sheppard slumped further, arms falling across his head. His vision blurred, and he knew he was losing, that he never had a chance.

The last thing he heard was footsteps and then everything was black.


	6. Chapter 6: Be All My Sins Remember'd

**Author's Note:** There's a naughty word in this chapter, so if you have sensitive ears, forgive. Oh, still definitely read it! It's a pretty big chapter, lots of going on and the reappearance of a certain someone...

* * *

**Chapter 6: Be All My Sins Remember'd**

The first thing to come back was sound.

Sheppard remembered someone telling him, once, that sound, hearing, was the last thing to disappear and the first thing to return in coma patients. He wasn't sure who, because his head hurt too much to remember, and he guessed he hadn't been in a coma, because then he would be lying on a soft bed with pillows and warm blankets. And the fact that he was lying face down on the hard, lumpy ground, in the freezing cold, was the second thing to hit him.

Trying not to concentrate on the steady drips of a leaky pipe somewhere in the vicinity, he focused instead on his breathing. His chest hurt, bruises forming across his torso from where he had kept on moving while the jumper had changed direction. The resulting crash had not been fun.

Besides that, and the concussion he was no doubt going to be suffering, he was… well, alive. He was alive, and he guessed that was all that mattered.

Giving a groan, he rolled over, trying to open his eyes, blinking and flinching as a harsh light struck his sight. He turned away, wishing he hadn't moved so fast when a wave of nausea rolled over him, and the quick movement sent a flash of pain through his head.

"Sheppard?"

Someone was suddenly leaning over him, blocking out the circle of light just above him, and he tried to focus on the shadow. For some reason his eyes wouldn't concentrate though, and he had to resort to guessing from the grating tone of the voice.

"Goldman?"

"At least you're alive," Goldman whispered, though to the pilot's sensitive head, it still felt like a shout. He didn't say anything though, just tried to sit up without the wave of dizziness he was sure would follow.

Slowly he tilted vertical, and the wave of vertigo hit him anyway. Grabbing onto Goldman to keep his balance, or at least his lunch, he put the other hand on the floor, wincing as pain shot through his wrist, before flinching away.

The dizziness passed, taking its sweet time, and he opened his eyes again, trying to figure out just what had happened. To his relief, the blurriness passed, and he could focus his sight.

Not that he really wanted to, he decided after a quick appraisal of his latest accommodation. It was a filthy cell, nine feet by nine feet, rusted bars separating him from freedom. Besides Goldman, two of the men who had gone to the Replicator home world were present, and he guessed the other two hadn't made it. The incessant drips that had woken him fell in one corner, creating a small puddle to add to the décor and smell of the cell.

The other three were injured as well. He could tell by the way Goldman was holding his arm close, keeping his ribs protected, and the slight glassiness to his eyes that suggested he had hit his head as well. There was also blood on his shoulder, but that didn't seem to faze him.

The other two were further away, and in his haze, Sheppard struggled to remember their names. The younger one was Tyler, he thought. He leaned heavily against the bars to John's right, a small, bloody slash on his left leg and a ginger way of keeping it off the ground. The other, a man a little older than John appeared, his name was Collins. He too held one arm close, but judging by the way he used his right arm to support the limb, he guessed his shoulder had been dislocated. And by the way he leaned forward from where he sat, he had done something to his back as well.

At least he wasn't the only one injured, though he thought he would have preferred it if he had been. More chance of escaping from wherever they had been taken. Because he had a feeling they weren't on the Replicator home world anymore.

"Sheppard?"

Goldman's voice broke through his thoughts, and Sheppard shook his head, mentally at least, because physically doing it would have made him throw up all over the nice man holding him up.

"I'm here," he answered hollowly. "I'm guessing we didn't make it back to Atlantis."

"You'd be guessing correct there," Goldman confirmed, and this time Sheppard heard the heat. The blame. He glared up at the other man.

"Don't you dare," he spat quietly, giving Goldman a small shove before struggling to his feet. "I did everything I could," he told the other man as he looked for bars to lean against. "I tried to save your sorry ass when you couldn't have done jack to protect you, Atlantis, or anyone else from Michael and his goddamn hybrids! So don't you dare go blaming me because I tried my best!"

"Your best?" Goldman sneered, taking a step forward. "So explain to me again why we had to go up through the roof when in fact the way out was beneath us?"

"Like I tried to explain in the jumper," Sheppard told him, regaining strength from his anger. "We needed a distraction, and there was no one there to do it for us. If we had gone directly to the gate, they would have shot us down before we could even dial back. And those jumpers have cloaks, not shields."

Goldman interrupted him with a laugh. "They shot us down anyway, Sheppard! In case you hadn't noticed, I lost two of my men because you just had to fly one of those damn ships one last time!"

It was all he could do not to hit the bastard. "I was trying to draw their attention away from the gate!" he told Goldman. "Flying up, then descending as fast as possible, while everyone inside had their attention away from the Stargate. And then blowing the whole place to hell as we flew through it! It would have worked, too, if you hadn't kept on screaming in my ear like a little pansy! What exactly do they teach you now? Huh? I mean, you all seem to _suck_ at the whole survival thing!"

Goldman lost control. Taking one step forward, the man swung hard, and he swung fast. Maybe if Sheppard hadn't been concussed, he would have been able to block, or dodge, or do more than watch the fist coming at him. But injured, headache building, and still dazed from the crash, he couldn't do anything but fall to the ground as the fist hit him.

Head swimming, it took him a moment to gain his bearings, and by then, Goldman had moved to the other side of the cell, and was talking with his remaining men. Feeling angry, frustrated and alone, Sheppard got his hands under him, wincing as his sprained wrist once again reminded himself of its presence. But he stoically ignored it and, lip bleeding now, rose to his hands and knees.

Sensing a sudden presence he looked up, jumping back as he found a smiling face staring at him, triumph and amusement battling it out in those cold eyes. Those cold eyes, the only thing that remained the same in a now old face, lined with death, features fading into insignificance with the passing years. But those looks didn't matter. Sheppard looked into those eyes, remembering looking into them before, and realized that no matter how old he looked, the half-Wraith creation was still strong and powerful.

Heart pounding, gut tightening and hatred burning, Sheppard got to his feet, never dropping the gaze of the half-man before him as they both stood slowly, one all but quivering in anticipation, the other trembling with loathing.

"Michael!" he spat, trying not to lose control. It was hard. He wanted so badly to rip the half-Wraith to shreds where he stood, wanted to run at him, claw at him, grab him and beat him to a bloody, messy, painful death. Wanted to make him pay for destroying the lives of every single one of his friends.

"Well, well," Michael sneered as the other three came closer, coming to a halt two feet behind their fellow prisoner. "I never expected to see you again, John Sheppard. I really did think I would never have the pleasure."

"Let me out of this cell and I'll show you what a pleasurable guest I could be," he snarled, quietly, his voice smoking with rage. Michael just smiled deeper, and it made his eyes grow colder.

"I'm sure you would," Michael told him, taking a step closer. He was within reach now, if Sheppard could just grab him in time. "But I think I like you in there for now. I wasn't exactly expecting company of this… calibre."

Sheppard's head tilted up, defiance entering his stance though he didn't move beyond his head. "That's okay. I wasn't expecting to run across you in this galaxy either. Not after you wiped it out."

Michael gave a chuckle. "I keep sensors on certain planets. Like the Replicator world, where there are so many of those power sources that Atlantis needs. I never could find the city after they cloaked it… but I always knew they would return." His gaze flicked to Goldman, Tyler and Colins, and the three of them shifted. "And when they returned, I knew they would need power. I knew they would come here."

"You always were good at the hiding thing," Sheppard told him crossing his arms to keep his fists from shaking. "Like a coward, waiting in the shadows, doing your little experiments, forcing people to be just like you."

Michael's cold eyes flashed like steel. "You cannot talk, Sheppard. Was Atlantis declaring itself when you dragged me down there and performed your experiments? Or did you hide as you tried to make me human?"

Behind him, Goldman shifted, this time out of anger, and Sheppard tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the fact that now, with what Michael was revealing, he really was going to be alone.

"I'm going to kill you," he told the half-Wraith, face contorting into a snarl. He really was shaking now, unable to stop it, his whole body, just quivering with the need to lay his hands about the creature's neck and choke the life from it. "I am going to kill you!"

Michael's sneer came back. "You had your chance, Sheppard. In fact, if I remember, you had it a few times. You couldn't do it then. You won't be able to do it now."

He turned and left, and too late, Sheppard sprung forward, reaching for Michael's shoulder, shirt, jacket, anything, any kind of grip that would stop him from walking away and let the pilot rip him to pieces.

But his hand fell away empty, and his rage broke as he tried to get through the bars, tried to reach the retreating creature, tried to kill him, imagined it over and over.

"I'm going to kill you, Michael!" he screamed, still struggling against the bars. "I'll kill you, I swear to God! You're dead, Michael, I'm going to wrap my hands around your filthy neck and tear you to shreds! Michael. Michael! Michael!"

But the half-man was gone, and, feeling drained, Sheppard slid to his knees, exhausted and empty and depressed, watching Michael walk away once again. Heaving, trying to breath, he turned slightly, bringing his hand back through the bars, struggling to get enough air as the hatred left, leaving him weak and mad and shaking.

Leaving him with the three now pissed men who had been his allies ten minutes ago.

"What was he talking about?" Goldman demanded, horror on his face.

Sheppard turned all the way around and leaned back against the bars, feeling defeated. "Just leave it, Goldman."

The man took a threatening step forward, looming over the pilot. "What the hell was he talking about, Sheppard?"

"I said leave it!"

"No!" Goldman shouted, leaning down to grab Sheppard's shirt, hauling him up and shoving him against the bars. "Tell me what he meant!"

Sheppard shook his head, lacking the will to fight against the other man's mounting anger. "We created him, okay. We caught him and tried to make him human. We failed. That's it."

"That is not it!" Goldman screamed, shoving him again. "Billions of people died because you _failed_!" Another shove, and still Sheppard couldn't bring himself to defend himself. "He wiped out two entire galaxies because of your experiment!"

Another shove, and Goldman let go, leaving Sheppard to slide to the floor, the words the other man had just screamed in his ears still ringing through his mind. He looked up at the man's back.

"What?"

Goldman turned back, a vicious smile on his face. "Oh, that's right, Fairfield didn't tell you, did he?" The man walked back over and squatted before him. "Earth's gone, Sheppard. Earth's long gone. Thirty years after you disappeared, Michael found his way to the Milky Way. That was how big his army was by then, enough so he could attack two galaxies all at once. Earth was his first target. He destroyed it, wiped out seven billion people, leaving only a few thousand to escape through the Stargate to the Alpha site, or to Atlantis. The next time someone went back there, Earth was no more than a pile of rocks floating in space."

Horror spread quickly through him, and he stood back up, face pale, the news too much to bear so soon after losing everyone he knew. He shook his head. "You're lying," he spat hoarsely. "There's no way…"

Goldman had stood with him, and he shook his head in turn. "I'm not lying, Sheppard. And you know the best bit. It's your fault. All your fault, that your precious Earth is dust. Your failed experiment destroyed your own world."

Sheppard lunged at him, tackling him to the ground, ignoring the pain in his wrist as he started punching and punching, hatred and self-loathing and anger blinding him, giving him strength, enough so that even Tyler and Collins had trouble pulling him off Goldman.

"You're lying!" Sheppard screamed, fighting against the two men as they dragged him back. He ignored their actual presence beyond fighting them, ignored everything but the need to inflict some kind of damage on someone, ignored everything but Goldman's bloody face as the man sat up from the floor, wiping his mouth, ignored everything but the urge to hit the lies from his tongue. "You're lying! You're lying, you're fucking lying!"

Wincing, Goldman stood up, though Tyler and Collins kept Sheppard kneeling on the floor, knowing he still wanted to hurt someone. "I'm not lying Sheppard," Goldman repeated, staring straight down at him with an emotionless glare. "Earth is gone. Everything you ever knew, is gone. There's nothing left of your people, of your friends, only half-true stories that few people believe. Everything else is little more than dust."

He all but spat the last words, and Sheppard felt the fight leak from him as despair hit hard. Tyler and Collins let him drop as he felt the numbness spread, heard the deep breaths in his ears, felt the tightening of his chest. The three of them left him alone, crushed, the grief for his friends made all the worse by the fact that his home was lost to him as well. Everything was lost to him.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

* * *

Man, it just gets worse and worse for the poor bloke...


	7. Chapter 7: The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:** Sorry about not posting last night, this whole uni thing - and actually studying for a change... - can be a little evils. It's like they don't care that I'm meant to be posting or something...

On another note, I just walked home from work! Apart from two little not so good detours on the way, I'm feeling really good at the moment! Just thought you'd like to know. I'm nice like that.

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**Chapter 7: The Lost Boys**

Footsteps jerked him awake, and he cursed under his breath. Judging by the blood caking his hairline, temple and eyebrow, he had a concussion and should really not be sleeping. But now that they knew that their desperate lives were his fault, Goldman and his men didn't seem to care if he lived or died.

God, he felt lonely.

Trying not to dwell on it, he tried instead to focus on what had woken him, rolling over and sitting up in time to see the hybrid approaching the cell they were stuck in. Goldman walked to the front, flanked by Tyler and Collins, as another two of the creatures emerged from the shadow. Forgotten or ignored, Sheppard staggered to his feet, fighting back the wave of dizziness that threatened to send him sprawling back to the floor.

The three hybrids paused at the front of the cell, and for a long second, silence reigned. Then the lead lifted his arm slowly, and pointed to Sheppard.

"Come," it ordered, and the three other men turned to look back at him, their curiosity not quite able to dispel the hatred fuelling the fire in their eyes.

Licking his lips, Sheppard did as he was told, walking forward and ignoring Goldman's glare. The cell door swung open for him, hinges squeaking as they moved, and he stepped out of the cage. The door swung shut once more, and he couldn't help but flinch as it banged. Two of the hybrids grabbed his arms and began jerking him forward.

Once outside of the room the cell was in, he yanked his arms free. "That's really not necessary," he spat at them, shrugging his shoulders. "I've just been in a crash, I'm not going anywhere."

They ignored him, but didn't move to retake their hold on his arms, for which he was grateful. Maybe that way he could take notice of the turns and halls the four of them walked down, so when he finally did manage to get free, he could rescue Goldman's ungrateful pansy ass and get them all the hell out of here.

"So, uh…" He looked around at his captors. "I'm guessing Mikey wants to see me. Have a little chat. Catch up. Exchange new numbers. That kind of thing."

The hybrids didn't answer, not that he expected them to. They just kept on marching, and he struggled to keep up with their persistent pace. He took note of the next turn and glanced at the hybrid to his right.

"So if you guys wiped out everyone, how is your kind even still around?" he asked, just seeing if he could get a reaction. "Cause I don't remember you from 50,000 years ago, and Mikey just didn't strike me as the equal opportunist type."

The hybrid behind him got it, giving a snarl and shoving him in the back. "Pick up the pace, Sheppard."

That made the pilot grin. "Oh, so you have heard of me?" he said, looking around. He didn't stop though. "I guess not everyone's forgotten about me then."

He could see enough of the hybrid to see it sneer. "Our leader told us enough of you," it spat at him. "You disappeared 50,000 years ago and left your people to their doom." John flinched, but said nothing, losing the amusement on his face. "Michael was sure you had turned and fled, like a coward."

Sheppard struggled to put a grin back on his face. "Well, guess I proved him wrong then, huh?" he told it as they approached a set of doors. One of the hybrids by his side picked up the pace and opened the doors for him. He nodded at it, mocking graciousness as he passed.

They had come to a small room a fair distance from the cell. The hybrids paused at the door, but John kept on walking, stopping only once he had reached the centre of the sparsely decorated room, a few feet in front of the cold metal table with the Wraith equivalent of a computer sitting on it. He recognised the type, which didn't say much for the advance of technology. What had been happening in the last 50,000 years?

Guessing he wouldn't get the chance to find out, he turned a circle in the room, taking in what little there was to notice. He had barely had time to recognise six familiar cases before a sound at the door made him spin.

"A little more lavish than your cell," Michael spoke up, and Sheppard immediately had to stop himself from rushing the ex-Wraith as his eyes came to rest on the frail creature before him. "But no where near what comfort you are used to, I am guessing."

Sheppard said nothing as Michael entered, never once taking his eyes off the half-human as it approached him. The desire to kill the beast who had destroyed his friends, family, and world, that need for revenge ran through him, stronger and more unbearable with every step Michael took towards him.

"I don't know," Sheppard answered, voice shaking. "I was in stasis for 1500 years. At least I'm awake to see this."

Michael paused three feet away from him – so close, within easy reach, if he could just… God, he wanted to kill the bastard with every fibre of his being. And why shouldn't he? Why not? Just because the hybrids were in the room? They wouldn't reach them in time, not before he snapped Michael's neck. A quick death, too painless, but it was a death.

The thoughts played over his face, easily readable, and Michael chuckled. "Go ahead, Sheppard," he whispered enticingly. "Try to destroy me. That was what you promised, wasn't it? You were going to kill me, rip me limb from limb. Wrap your hands round my filthy neck and tear me to -."

Sheppard snapped. With a great, barbaric, inhuman roar he lunged, tackling Michael before he could even finish his sentence. They both fell to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

Somehow his hands found Michael's neck, and, animalistic pleasure seething through him, he squeezed, tightening his grip as hard as he could. Beneath him, Michael squirmed, but he made no attempt to defend himself. Neither did the hybrids.

And Sheppard just didn't care.

He kept on squeezing, his hands strong, like stone as he choked the life from the half-human creation, the seconds ticking by so slowly it was as if he could almost feel Michael's life fading away beneath his very hands, so similar to the feeling so many of Michael's victims must have felt when the thing was pure Wraith.

And that only fuelled his strength further.

But somewhere, deep, deep inside, he knew this was too easy, and a moment later, Michael proved that drowning voice right. With a flash of his cold, hard eyes, the half-Wraith came to life under Sheppard's hands.

He lashed out, open palm connecting with Sheppard's jaw, and light flashed across his eyes, searing into his skull and brain. Unable to stop himself, he let go, falling backwards, the blow not helping his already concussed head. With the agility of a man a quarter of his physical age, Michael stood, apparently unaffected by a minute or so of not getting any air. Still on the ground, Sheppard looked up, glaring, hating the thing before him. He went to get to his feet, to try again, to keep on trying until either he or Michael was dead, but the half-Wraith had other plans. With the strength Sheppard remembered from millennia ago, Michael kicked out, connecting soundly with the pilot's bruised chest. Winded, he dropped to the floor, crying out as he landed awkwardly on his already sprained wrist.

But he was a stubborn man, always had been. Determined, blinded by rage, uncaring anymore, whatever the reason, he went to get to his feet again, and, once again, Michael kicked him down with a well-placed foot to his stomach.

Trying to suck in some air, something, anything to fuel the hatred, to keep it burning strong, Sheppard got his arms underneath his body and pushed up, trying to pull his knees in at the same time. It seemed to work, until Michael lashed out once more, venting his own loathing with a second kick to Sheppard's bruised chest, making the colonel grunt before he could stop himself.

And then John Sheppard lay still, unable to summon the strength to get back up and fight.

Laying there, on the floor, tired, hurting, heaving for air, and the hate far too draining on his energy, it took him a moment to realize Michael was squatting next to him, a mixture of amusement and triumph on his pasty face. Sheppard could barely gather the strength to glare.

"Just kill me already." _Put me out of my misery._

Michael's face split in a twisted smile, and Sheppard immediately wished he could retract the statement. But he couldn't. All he could do was lie there, down and out for what had to be the first time in his life. Where had that burning will to survive gone?

Michael's face came in and out of focus before Sheppard could concentrate on those harsh blue eyes, trying to ignore everything else. The half-human shook his head.

"I think not, Sheppard. There are things I need from you first. Very important things."

"Like what?" he demanded, shifting slightly on the hard ground, trying to will himself to his feet, to fight. But it was just so damn hard, and he was so damn tired.

Michael's grin deepened, though it never touched his eyes, and the result was far darker and far scarier than Sheppard would ever have admitted to anyone.

"You, Colonel Sheppard, are going to help me wipe humanity from this universe once and for all."

John snarled instantly, some of that fight flaring up once more, giving him hope for his own survival again. This was more like it!

"The hell I am!" he spat, and it even managed to sound menacing and promising from his oh-so-threatening position on the ground. Michael reacted as such, anyway, glaring and losing that comforted smile.

The ex-Wraith stood and nodded to two of his hybrids, who walked forward and each grabbed a hold of Sheppard's shirt. They hauled him to unsteady feet, holding him up when it became apparent that he was still too tired to stand by himself.

Leaning heavily on them, Sheppard took a deep breath, finally revelling in some more of that defiance. He glared up at Michael and it felt good to match the stare of the thing that had destroyed Earth.

"You will help me," Michael told him, asserting the fact and coming once again to stand a few feet from him. "One way or another, you will do as I ask."

"Or what?" Sheppard demanded, managing to sound cocky even though he was barely conscious, and unable to stand on his own.

"Or your people -."

John cut him off with a harsh laugh. "My people? You mean those three men down in that cell that just beat the crap out of me?" He stopped the laughter suddenly, glaring at the mass-murderer. "They are not my people. You destroyed my people, remember. Or has your mind grown weak with age?"

Michael smiled slowly, softly. "Oh no, Sheppard, I remember. When did you disappear? I think it was a few weeks before dear Teyla had her baby. A few weeks before I tore that baby from her and left her to die."

Sheppard lunged at him, roaring again, but the hybrids were strong, and they kept him still. Michael just laughed at his attempts, assured in his safety.

"Of course, it has been 50,000 years," Michael admitted, never dropping John's gaze. "But I assume it was before Ronon went and blew himself up." The smile darkened slightly. "Himself and one of my labs. But it didn't matter. I had plenty of other labs."

The half-Wraith cocked his head, and grinned. "Now I know it was definitely before I finally found my way to your home galaxy. The Milky Way, right?" At the chilling words, Sheppard went still, heart beating erratically. "The name never did seem important. Just another pit stop on my way to universal destruction. Just like Earth was. Have you seen it, Sheppard? The floating pile of rocks that used to make up your home? Now there, I made sure I found those who dared stand before me, those who had corrupted me and made me what I am."

Michael leaned in closer, sneering now, enjoying the moment with a sickening amount of pleasure, enjoying the pain and horror flitting over his captive's face. "I found Dr McKay, Sheppard. Of course, he was old by then, hardly worth it. But I found him, and I made him suffer until he broke. Until he was a blabbering fool who lost everything he ever held dear – his intelligence, and knowledge, his pride, his wish to save the day... And he gave up Beckett's clone, and I ripped that apart as easily as I made it, just for the fun of it. And who else was there? Who else was left after you abandoned them, who else did I kill while you were unable to help them."

He whispered those last words slowly, making sure each syllable struck home, and for what felt like the umpteenth time that day, Sheppard broke again, lunging forward, insane with hatred, pulling even the hybrids in his frenzy. Michael leaned back, laughing, while signalling to the third hybrid, who walked forward, stunner recognisable even to Sheppard's currently unstable mind.

The pilot barely even felt the stun beam hit him, just felt the darkness consume him even as he continued to battle the hatred and loathing tearing him apart.

* * *

When he woke, he felt more drained than he could ever remember feeling. His throat was dry, and hoarse, and for a moment he struggled to remember why. And then it all came back to him, with a startling and unwanted clarity.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the grief he felt at the death Michael had claimed for his friends. He couldn't deal with that now, not while he was still in Michael's hands. He shoved it away, to a corner deep in his mind, from where only a few tears strayed.

He finally managed to open his eyes, blinking slightly to remove the blurriness. He was lying down still, but he wasn't back in the cell. If he had to guess, he would have said he was still in Michael's office, on his side, facing the closed door. And two of the hybrids he was really beginning to hate.

Eyeing them uneasily, he went to sit up, but pain lanced through his head, and he decided that probably wasn't a very good idea yet. But he still managed a groan, closing his eyes to avoid more discomfort than was necessary.

"Are you finally awake, Sheppard?"

The close proximity of Michael's voice made his eyes snap open again, and he rolled over to look up. And up, into Michael's pale face, that ghost of a grin making his hatred spike.

He rolled back to his side and groaned again. "No, I'm still asleep," he denied, even as he tried to get to his hands and knees. His ribs argued against that, but he never had been in the habit of listening to good sense when he heard it, and despite the sharp pain that was a sure sign of at least fractured ribs, he managed to get to where he wanted. And all without Michael kicking him down once more.

It was even more of an effort to get to his feet, but he finally managed even that, before coming to a stop barely a foot before Michael's smiling face. That hatred beat away, steady with his heart, but he could feel himself swaying and guessed that wasn't a good starting point for a killer attack. Remembering his last one, he figured he could wait. Patience was a virtue, after all. Maybe not one he possessed, but who said you couldn't teach an old dog new tricks.

As if reading his mind, Michael smirked. "What, no all out attack?" he demanded, before moving off the desk and walking for the door. Sheppard stiffly watched his movements, and when Michael realized he wasn't being followed, he turned to face his prisoner.

"Follow me, Sheppard," he ordered. "I want you to see what you're going to help me with."

Figuring that couldn't hurt, he glanced quickly at the two hybrids and began to follow, staggering the first few steps before regaining balance and strength. It felt like he hadn't moved in ages.

He followed Michael in silence, struggling to breath with his chest aching like it was. Thankfully they didn't have far to go, just passing a few doors before going through the set at the end of the corridor.

They came into a large room, empty but for two objects, and Sheppard's eyebrow rose as he glanced at Michael.

"Sorry. I'm totally the wrong person to be asking about Stargates," he told the half-Wraith. Michael scowled at him.

"As if I needed your help with it," he snapped. "I've been using Stargates longer than you've been alive."

"I don't know," John answered as they passed through the great, still ring, moving towards the doors on the other side. "I've been alive a hell of a long time."

Michael's scowl deepened, but he didn't answer, just shoved the doors open. Sheppard gave him what he hoped was an annoying grin and walked through.

And then any trace of amusement or grin left him, as he walked forward into the cavernous warehouse. The room was huge, dropping two or three stories below the balcony they had appeared on, and rising high into the air. It was made of some kind of metal, the walls and roof strong and supported, examples of a race's pinnacle of defensive architecture. But that wasn't what took his breath away, what made his knees so shaky he had to walk forward and grab onto the balcony's railing for support, before he would have fallen.

Because this warehouse contained a single Aurora-class Lantean warship.


	8. Chapter 8: Spoils of War

**Chapter 8: Spoils of War**

"Oh my God."

He couldn't believe his eyes. Forgetting momentarily that he was a prisoner of Michael, the half-man he had sworn to kill, forgetting for a while that the ex-Wraith was barely three feet behind him. Forgetting, for the second it took his mind to swing back into gear, that he was tired and sore and injured, and probably living out his last hours if Michael had his way. Forgetting that he was supposed to be defiant and nonplussed the whole time… he stared down at the magnificent spacecraft, breath caught in his throat.

It really was beautiful. Now that he looked closer, the ship wasn't exactly like the Orion, and Aurora though; even his inexperienced eye could tell that. The craft was a little different, bigger, but somehow more nimble looking. From what he could see, the dock was bigger as well, able to fit more smaller craft like the jumpers. There also appeared to be more weapons, and a second set of burners at the end, for faster acceleration and no doubt easier manoeuvrability. More than the Orion or Aurora, this one really was a warship.

Which was strange, seeing a Lantean warship here. While the hanger was definitely Ancient in design, the rest of the complex was not so much. This really had been a secret project.

Suddenly Michael was by his side, and Sheppard flinched, trying not glance around at his enemy. "Where did you get it from?" he demanded. God, if he could only get back to his time now, and tell everyone where to find this ship. They would never have problems again. Unless they blew it up like they had the Orion. And the Aurora.

"We found it on this planet a few hundred years ago," Michael told him, hands behind his back. He glanced at Sheppard, eyes wary. "It has not been moved since the Lanteans left Pegasus."

And then everything made sense to Sheppard, and he backed away, shaking his head and laughing. "If you think I'm going to help you with that ship, you're out of your mind."

Michael turned to face him, cocking his head. "You're the only one who can, the only one left who has the gene. You will help us. Over time, you will."

Not liking that idea, Sheppard blanched. "I'll die before I help you get that ship online. The gene still requires a mental component for complicated things like that. And there is no way I'll willingly help you with it."

Michael scowled. "So many have spat that defiance in my face," he told the colonel. "And all of them have fallen, all of them have come to me. You will not be any different."

He began walking back into the room with the Stargate, and Sheppard turned to follow his movements. "Yes, I will be, Michael," he snarled, fists curling. "You know why? Because you destroyed everything I had left to live for. There's nothing for me to fight for, so you have nothing to use against me."

Michael turned back to face him, anger twisting his face. "There's still Atlantis, Sheppard," he warned the man. "I can still rip the knowledge of your dear city from you, hunt it down and destroy it."

The pilot grinned. "You could try. But I wouldn't give it up. You just don't get it, Michael. I have nothing to go back to, no reason to live on. And if you could have found it, you would have by now."

Snarling out loud, Michael stormed forward and grabbed him by the shirt, ramming him back into the balcony hard enough to nearly send him over the edge. He grabbed onto the pale hand gripping him, the one keeping him from plummeting to his death, and almost wished Michael would just let go.

"I will have your help Sheppard," the half-Wraith spat, leaning in close enough so John could smell his breath. "Or you will die!"

Smirking, he leaned in closer, so their noses were nearly touching. "Then I'll die with a smile on my face," he whispered, knowing it was true. There was no way he would ever willingly aid this creature.

Hissing, Michael pulled him forward with enough strength to shove him to the ground. The pain in his ribs flared and he curled in on himself, clutching his torso, just trying to breath. But even through the pain he could hear Michael's footsteps walking away, leaving him coiled on the ground.

A second later he felt large, strong hands on his upper arms, and the two hybrids hauled him to his feet. They didn't let go, either, because he collapsed as soon as his feet tried to take his weight. He heard one of the hybrids grumble under its breath, and ignored it, letting his exhaustion – both physical and mental – wash over him.

Apparently content to let his feet drag, the hybrids hauled him away, their strength unbelievable. In their grips, Sheppard hung, watching out of slitted eyes, just as content to hang there.

For the moment, anyway.

Trying not to tense, he waited, using that new trick called patience. Only a moment longer, that was all he had to wait, just until they were lined up with the…

Seeing the grey of the Stargate, he gritted his teeth and pulled his feet under his body, rushing sideways to the closest curve of the interstellar portal. The hybrids, not expecting the sudden movement, could only follow him, and he slammed one of them into the hard metal that had survived for at least 60,000 years, no doubt longer.

That one let go of his arm, and, pushing back the headache and rib pain, he spun to face the other, pulling the knife from its belt before he even tried hitting it. He knew he had no chance of inflicting any kind of pain, even if he had been in prime condition.

He pulled the knife out and up, slicing the hybrid's arm before it had a chance to react. Strong they might have been, smart they were not.

The hybrid roared with the pain, dropping its suddenly lifeless arm to its side. Which didn't mean its other arm was out of commission, and it lashed out so fast that Sheppard had to duck quick. Quick enough to cause him to lose his balance when his concussion chose a bad time to rear its ugly head and sent a wave of dizziness spiralling through him.

He landed awkwardly on his wrist, but ignored the shooting pain. While he was on the ground, he might as well make use of whatever advantage he could give himself, coming in from below. Gritting his teeth again, he stood up straight, so determined to do this that he managed to ignore the growing dizziness enough to drive the knife up into the hybrid's gut.

Blood poured over his hand, and he stepped back, taking the knife with him. The hybrid dropped to its knees, hands at its ruined gut, looking shocked as the cold hand of death passed over it.

But Sheppard had forgotten about the second hybrid. Nevertheless, it soon reminded him of its presence, as it wrapped its strangely long arms around his chest and squeezed.

He cried out, his ribs protesting heavily, and the pain was so bad he almost passed out. Trying to keep his head clear, he grabbed at the arms and pulled, to no avail. Thinking desperately, he changed tactic, twisting the knife in his hand and planting it through the hybrid's arms where they crossed at his chest.

It roared like its partner had, and Sheppard ripped the bloody weapon out with as much savagery as he could muster. With another roar very much like a human scream, it let him go, and Sheppard moved to finish it off. With a grunt of effort, he planted the soaked knife between the hybrid's ribs, and cleanly sliced up along the bone.

It dropped to the ground, just as dead as its mate, and Sheppard stumbled forward, that exhaustion he had been feigning not so fake anymore. But he couldn't stop now, not even for a moment. Because if he stopped for a moment, he would never start again.

He made it to the door when he felt it, the sharp pain in his chest. Swearing, recognising the pain, he put a hand to his chest, underneath the ruined uniform. His hand came away bloody, and he knew. It wasn't just hybrid blood.

"Dammit," he whispered, pushing off against the door. Yeah, not one of his better moves. Obviously he had sunk the knife a little too far through the hybrid's arms, and had sunk it into his own chest.

It wasn't deep, for which he was grateful, because he couldn't afford to pause. Once he got them all back to Atlantis, they could take care of him, get him better, and then he could come back to this god-forsaken planet and kill Michael on a more even footing.

He pushed off the doorframe and stumbled into the corridor, feeling better with every step he took. Thankfully the way was clear, and he remembered where to go – that needed sense of direction once again – as he walked, and then jogged through the corridors. He ignored the slowly spreading bleed on his chest, knowing it wasn't far back to the cells. Then back to Michael's office for the ZPMs, and then to the gate, and from there, back to Atlantis.

He kept a steady hand on the knife, pausing before the final corner to look around. There were no hybrids guarding this side of the door into the cell, which made him purse his lips, before setting off. The only guards in sight were the two watching the three men in the cell.

Stepping carefully and silently, he made his way to the door, creeping along the wall. The hybrids seemed unaware of his presence, not even as he stepped softly through the door. It was only as Goldman's eyebrows shot up that the guards seemed to take any notice.

By then it was too late. Speeding up, he grabbed one hybrid from behind, digging the knife deep within its chest. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the other guard coming at him, and he turned himself and his captive to face it. But he wasn't done there.

He grabbed the stunner from the hybrid's belt, moving faster than he probably should have been able to. But he had always been like that, and once again, he could find no fault with it. He pulled the gun up and pulled the trigger.

The other hybrid fell, unconscious immediately, and the one in John's arms was suddenly so heavy he could only drop it, arms shaking. He left the knife implanted in its chest, but kept the stunner, moving to the cell to get it open.

"How the hell did you get free?" Goldman asked, holding onto the bars to the side, out of the way of the door.

Sheppard grinned tiredly at him. "Haven't you heard the stories, Goldman?" he asked. "I'm just good at this stuff."

He bent to study the lock, as Goldman stared at him. "What? Good at getting caught?"

Sheppard looked up at him, allowing the comment to slide. "Hey. Who's the one rescuing who?" he demanded lightly, before looking back at the lock. It swam before his eyes, and he had to shut his lids quickly, grabbing onto the bars to keep himself on his feet.

"Sheppard?"

The nausea and vertigo passed, and the colonel shook his head, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine," he told the other men, though his voice sounded weak even to him. "You try fighting off four hybrids, and see how you feel."

He wasn't going to be able to blow the lock off, and spun on his heels, stumbling to the fallen hybrids. He rolled the first one over, grabbing the knife while he was there, and searched the thing for a key.

"I don't know how you feel," Goldman told him. "But you look like crap. What did Michael do to you, you were with him for over an hour."

This one didn't have a key, and Sheppard moved onto the second one. "Oh you know, just a little catch up. Then Michael insisted I take a nap." Wait, what was that? "Then he showed me this awesome Lantean space ship that looks like a sweet ride."

He pulled out an actual 9mm, and stared at it for a moment, relishing in the familiar feel of it in his palm. Well, at least he and Michael weren't the only antiquated things around.

He stood back up and moved to the cell door, ignoring Goldman's shocked stare. "A Lantean space ship?" he asked. "Is it working? Can we steal it? Has Michael been able to get past the gene thing?"

Sheppard stared at him, wondering how the hell he could talk that fast. "Ah, maybe, no and no. Now stand back." And he aimed the gun at the lock and pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed in the cell, and he cringed with the noise, sure he would hear feet pounding this way any moment now. But the smoke cleared, the cell door was blown nearly off its hinges, and there was silence all around.

"Are you nuts?" Goldman demanded, moving back from where he had jumped back almost too late. "You could have killed us!"

He moved through the open door and Sheppard handed him the stunner. "I could have left," he told the man softly. "If I was the guy you probably think I am, I would have. We didn't mean for this to happen."

Reminded of Sheppard's part in Michael, Goldman flinched and snatched the stunner away. "Yeah, well, you didn't stop it either," he retorted as he searched the two hybrids for any further weapons. Sheppard just watched him.

"No, I didn't," he admitted. "I never got the chance. I got stuck here, in this time, before I could kill him."

Goldman picked up the second stunner, and looked John directly in the eye. And then he nodded. "Okay. I can accept that. It doesn't change much. But it probably changes enough."

He handed Tyler the second stunner, and Sheppard nodded in acceptance, before looking around at the three men. "Here's the deal," he told them. "The Stargate isn't far from here. But we need to make a little detour first. The ZPMs are in Michael's office."

Goldman nodded. "Okay. Lead the way, Sheppard. You wanted trust. I'm trusting you."

He nodded and turned for the door, checking the ammunition in the 9mm as he checked the way. Once more, it was clear, and he bit his lip. But he didn't say anything, just pushed on, touching his chest once to feel his shirt soaked.

It didn't take long to reach Michael's office, and the fact that they hadn't come across a single hybrid was beginning to bug him. But he sent Tyler and Collins in to grab the ZPMs while he and Goldman watched the corridor.

"This is too easy," the man suddenly spoke up, and Sheppard glanced at him, before nodding.

"Yeah, I know." He paused, looking up the way. "You know the address to get to Atlantis, don't you?"

Goldman nodded, before glancing at him, scowling. "No. Sheppard, you are not to go after Michael. We need you at Atlantis. You're the only one with the gene."

"Don't worry," John spat, glancing behind to see Tyler and Collins ready with the ZPMs. "I'll be a good boy. Come on, this way."

He led the way out of the room, catching himself before he stumbled. Behind him, Goldman went to hold him up, but he glared at the man before he could even touch the pilot, and they kept on moving.

The Stargate room was empty too, and Sheppard wondered when the trap would spring as he moved forward to dial the coordinates.

And then his hand paused over the DHD, and he got it. Glancing furtively around, he moved his hand slightly and pressed the button, before moving deftly onto the next. A second later he pushed the middle dome and the Stargate's vortex rushed at them.

And all hell broke loose.

A loud shot echoed in the room, and Sheppard spun in time to see Collins go down, blood spreading from a shoulder, and half a dozen hybrids storming the room.

"Go!" he shouted, racing at the hybrids, gun up. He aimed carefully, still trying to get a feel for what these hybrids were capable of. But he seriously doubted they could survive a bullet to the head and a second later one fell to prove him right.

But the others just jumped over it, and he only had time to fire another single bullet before they were on him.

The sounds of stunners filled the room as two of them tackled him, pinning him hard enough to the ground so all the air was slammed out of his lungs. Vision wavering, he barely registered the fact when the two hybrids collapsed, unconscious.

The weight on top of him shifted, and his eyes came into focus to see a hand reached out to him. Dizzy, nauseas and winded, he nevertheless grabbed Goldman's offer and allowed he other man to pull him up.

"Nice job," he muttered, trying not to let his whole body collapse. God, he couldn't wait to get to Atlantis. Maybe then he could actually rest.

"You're bleeding," Goldman suddenly told him, staring at his chest. Sheppard nodded wearily without looking, and turned for the Stargate.

"Yeah, I know," he answered, exhaustion clear in his voice. "Come on, before more come to spring the trap."

Tyler was helping Collins to his feet, and Sheppard was glad to see the man was all right. Because a second later they all heard pounding feet, and they were coming in this direction.

"Move!" Sheppard cried, giving Goldman a shove to get him started. Tyler, strong despite his own injuries, took the lead, Collins leaning heavily on him. Goldman followed, and Sheppard, looking around, began to do the same, hurrying as Tyler and Collins crossed the event horizon and he realized he was only nearly at the DHD.

The door slammed open and a shot echoed across the room once more. Pain flaring in his right shoulder, Sheppard fell, crying out as he landed awkwardly on the ground beside the DHD. A second later Goldman crossed the event horizon and the Stargate shut down.

Panic filled him, mingling with horror and despair, and he stumbled to his feet, beginning to reel from the pain and blood loss. But he was aware enough to take aim at the DHD and pull the trigger. The shards of the blue dome flew everywhere, and, relaxing slightly, he collapsed to his knees, still holding on tight to the ancient dialing device.

Not for long, as he slid sideways, feeling his bloody shoulder protest as it thudded into the floor. He rolled over, blinking to keep his eyes clear and open, but it didn't seem to help. Shadow covered him, and he glanced up at it, desperate to get up and fight. But his injuries rolled towards him, unstoppable and angry, and he closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness.

* * *

Now what is he going to do?


	9. Chapter 9: The Defiant One

**Author's Note** Grrr to fire alarms at 3 am! I swear, if I find out that someone was making toast in their stairwell when they weren't supposed to be, I will not be happy...

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Defiant One**

Waking this time wasn't any more fun than the last time Sheppard had risen slowly from the comforting darkness his mind had sought. In fact it was a whole lot less fun, and he groaned as this time pain managed to beat sound in its journey back to reality.

His shoulder burned, though his chest felt better. His wrist ached, and was strangely cold. And his head felt like there were a thousand odd drummers drumming away happily inside of it.

So in all, not one of his most enjoyable awakenings.

Slowly he regained awareness, and though he didn't open his eyes, he began to take notice of his surroundings, knowing from the hard metal under his back that he wasn't in Atlantis. He wasn't sure what had happened; his memory was foggy, his thoughts slow.

He was alone. That much he knew instantly. And he was in pain, though not as much as he had been. Still, it was enough to make him groan as he tried to think, and he twisted, breaking out in a sweat.

Or at least he tried to twist. His arms wouldn't follow, and it took him a moment to realize he was restrained, and that the cold on his wrist was from the iron manacle keeping it in place. Or so he judged by the smell of the room.

He shifted, and realized he had lost his shirt somewhere, but his right shoulder was heavily bandaged. He still had his pants, thank God, but his boots were missing, and his toes felt numb. Wherever he was, it was freezing.

Thinking about that, he shivered, wishing some of the heat in his shoulder would spread about his body. It was the only part of him that was warm. If he was honest, it was too warm, but he refused to be, because that would mean he would have to acknowledge the undoubted infection in the wound. And that was never good news.

So he shied away from those thoughts and tried to open his eyes. It worked, sort of, and looked through blurry eyes at his unfamiliar surroundings.

It was a filthy room, and looking at it, it was no surprise that he had infection. It was a small room, the roof rusted and blackened intermittently, the colour on the walls running like there had been a few leaks over the years. To his right was a table with a Wraith computer on top, to his left, a bench covered in tools. He wasn't sure if they were for torture or surgery – they looked as equally adept at both – but they were the only clean things in the room.

At his feet was a door, heavy looking and closed. He lifted his head to try to focus on the door, and slowly his vision cleared enough to know he was still a captive. Like his wrists, his ankles were restrained in cold manacles keeping him on the table.

Somewhere a door slammed, and Sheppard flinched, the events of… well, he assumed the night before, but he didn't know. But he remembered, Michael, trying to kill him, the Lantean warship…

Escaping, or being allowed to escape. Getting the other three through the Stargate. And, oh, that was what had happened to his shoulder.

He shifted uncomfortably, remembering getting shot, and not getting through the Stargate himself. Disabling the DHD. If shooting it could be counted as disabling. He smiled as he remembered. That would have put a dent in Michael's plans to follow them back to Atlantis.

Another door slammed somewhere and Sheppard lifted his head again, ignoring his shoulder protesting – and his ribs – as he heard footsteps approaching. A minute later the lock clicked and the door opened.

Michael stormed in, his face a picture of fury. It didn't soften any when he saw Sheppard looking at him, grinning, and he marched to the pilot's side, glaring down, fists trembling at his sides.

"Well, Sheppard, I have to give you credit," the half-human spat. "I really didn't think you had the intelligence to send those men elsewhere before they moved on to Atlantis."

He shrugged as much as he was capable with restrained arms and a wounded shoulder. "Story of my life," he croaked. "Could've been MENSA but."

Michael obviously didn't get the reference as he glared down. "Feeling better, Sheppard?" he demanded after a moment of silence. "We put you down hard. Of course."

He looked himself over, before looking back up at Michael. "I've been better," he responded, wishing he could have some water. "Then again, I'm just surprised to be alive. I would have thought you would have just let me die."

The half-Wraith smirked. "As tempting as that was," it told him, looking up as a hybrid entered the room. "I still need you Sheppard."

He nodded at the hybrid, and it began checking his bandage. None too gently, either. Sheppard tried to avoid flinching, and looked up at a smirking Michael.

"Besides," the creature continued. "You've been saying all along how much you want to kill me…" He bent over, put his hands either side of Sheppard's head and leaned in close to whisper. "Did you ever think how much I might want to kill you?"

The colonel glared up at him, never letting his eyes drop from Michael's, even though his headache was beginning to flare. "Go ahead," he snarled. "You might as well just do it, because there is no way in hell I'm helping you with that ship."

Michael stared for another moment, and then smiled. Looking into his eyes as he was, Sheppard got the chance to once again notice how it never touched those icy orbs.

"We'll see, Sheppard," Michael told him ominously as he and his hybrid moved for the door. "We'll see."

* * *

They came for him a few hours later. A few long, cold, uncomfortable hours. During which he had to accept that he really did have an infection, and it was growing into a full blown fever as the time crept by. And it didn't help that no one came in to give him some water, or food, or actually do more with his bandage than check it.

When he heard the door unlock, he looked up, licking his lips with subconscious hope. He would kill for something to drink, though if he didn't get one soon, maybe even Michael couldn't keep him alive. And then all this would not worry him anymore.

Four hybrids entered the room, each one moving to their own restraint and unchaining him. He watched them cautiously, sitting up as he was freed and they moved back. And then had to take his eyes off of them to stop the wave of vertigo that slammed into him, making his stomach heave. It was all he could do not to retch.

Opening his eyes once more, once the dizziness had passed, he noticed the hybrids were still watching him without concern. He rolled his eyes at them, and slid off the table, wincing as his bare feet hit the freezing ground. He looked at one of them before moving off.

"Don't suppose you've got a shirt or something I can wear, do you?" he asked, his voice even more hoarse than it had been a few hours ago. The hybrid just looked at him and then nodded at the door. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He moved off, trying to steady his legs as they shook beneath him. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. How long it had been since he had had something proper to eat, or moved about. How much blood he had lost.

But he wasn't going to get any answers out of these guys, so he just allowed them to lead him somewhere in the dark hideaway Michael had claimed. They didn't have far to walk, for which he was thankful, but he wasn't looking forward to whatever was coming.

When they walked through swinging doors into the warship's warehouse, he wasn't surprised, but once again the sight of the Lantean vessel took his breath away. She really was a wonder.

Michael appeared a moment later from under the warship. He was followed by a trail of hybrids, smaller and he guessed smarter than his current guards. No doubt they were trying to figure out any way to integrate their own systems with the Ancient knowledge. He guessed if they hadn't managed it in the last few hundred years ago, they weren't going to ever be able to interface Wraith and Lantean technology.

For which he would be always grateful.

He stopped and allowed Michael to come to him, realizing he had left his guards at the door. Michael too, left his hybrids behind, and walked forward, hands clasped behind his back.

"Bit pre-emptive," Sheppard pointed out, nodding at the ship. "I mean, I was sure I said no and you haven't even tried to convince me yet."

Michael's eyes flashed. "I'm sure I will manage," he told the pilot. "Besides, I thought you would appreciate the tour of the ship."

He gave a shrug, but couldn't help but let his gaze be drawn back to the ship. "Don't suppose you could let me have one with a shirt on?" he asked, shivering slightly. "Your base is kind of cold, and I'd hate to die before I managed to escape."

Michael nodded at a hybrid, before looking back at Sheppard with a sneaky smile. "I thought you had nothing to go back to," he reminded the colonel, who scowled.

"No, I have nothing you can use against me," he spat, not liking the reminder of Michael's unscrupulous nature. "I only have one thing left to do, and then I honestly don't care if I live or die."

"And what would that be?" he asked as one of his creations handed Sheppard a rough woollen shirt. The pilot took it but didn't put it on just yet. Instead he just eyed Michael, not letting anything show on his face.

"Give me a couple of days, let my shoulder heal… you'll be the first to know."

Michael snorted and spun on his heels, headed for the warship. Sheppard followed him, pulling the shirt uneasily over his head. Warmer, at least slightly, he rolled his shoulders, ignored the stab of pain in one and followed the half-man onto the ship. The hybrid engineers followed behind him.

He was a few steps behind Michael, and had a chance to see dark corridors before he stepped onto the ramp and walked up them into the bowels of the ship. His foot crossed the threshold into the bowels of the ship, and he cringed as the lights came on, illuminating the way.

Michael slowed to a pause, looking about his prize with a look of triumph. Sheppard sighed and stopped as well, hands on his hips. He scowled up at the half-man.

"That just happens," he spat. "The same thing happened first time we entered Atlantis. No mental component required. The rest of the ship is very different." He crossed his arms. "And I'm not doing anything to help you."

"Not yet, in any case," Michael told him, walking on again. Sheppard scowled at his back, and followed, glancing back once at the hybrids tailing them both. "But I'm sure you'll see sense. In the meantime, let's find out what on this ship will turn on simply by noticing your presence."

Sheppard didn't answer, just followed as they made their way to the bridge. He was reminded of his time in Aurora's virtual environment, the lights bright, the power on, all systems working – he could almost feel it thrumming all around him, just waiting for him to bring it online and to full potential. It was waiting, impatient, or would have been if it had been even slightly sentient. Maybe it was anyway. But, unlike Atlantis, it was still young, or it still felt young, and had no sense of abandonment. It didn't need emotions to tell him that. He could tell by the strength of the lights, by the way they didn't flicker, by the way it waited for him.

The bridge was no different, but Sheppard paused by the door, not approaching the captain's chair in the centre of the room. He didn't want to risk it.

Michael noticed, and scowled, nodding at two hybrids who moved forward and grabbed the pilot's arms. Sheppard didn't bother trying to shake them off and let them drag him to the centre of the bridge. They stopped by the chair, and he stared down at it uneasily. Then he looked up at Michael, glaring.

"Do you just not understand English?" he demanded. "What part of I'm not going to help you don't you get?"

Michael moved around to the other side of the chair, tracing a finger over the back. "I'm just showing you around. Getting you familiar with the ship. I think you'll end up wanting to help us."

Sheppard crossed his arms. "And what makes you think that?" he asked, not liking the way the half-Wraith's eyes glinted in the unnatural light of the ship.

Michael looked up at him, those orbs icy and promising. "For starters, it will leave those fools in Atlantis more time to realize there is no weapon there capable of destroying me or my army." He cocked his head and grinned, and Sheppard couldn't help but shiver. "Before I fly there and destroy the city, of course."

The colonel's blood ran cold, gut dropping. "You bluffing," he whispered, his voice now hoarse for more reason than thirst. "You don't know where Atlantis is, and you never will. Otherwise you would never have let Goldman escape. You're just hoping I'll fall for it and tell you."

Michael chuckled. "Please, if I really needed the information, I could take it easily. But if you want to believe that," he answered with a shrug, moving back around the chair, circling Sheppard. "But I know the planet. I've known for some time. Of course, those shields, keeping out your dying sun might be a small problem… but eventually they'll give way, under the bombardment of my ships. With no ocean to hold back the power, your fair city will be a sitting duck."

He whispered the last words in Sheppard's ear and the man flinched, trying hard not to turn and punch Michael as hard as he could.

"Well, if you knew all that already, how come you haven't attacked? Why let those men go? Why were you so angry about it earlier?" he asked, shifting without looking at his captor. He tried to look confident, like he knew things Michael apparently didn't. Even when he didn't.

"Please. I had no need to destroy Atlantis when I found it. There was no one there, there was no threat. It was abandoned and empty, a fitting testament to the Ancients who built it, useless and soft as they were." He gave a chuckle, ignoring the flaws in his claim. "I'd already destroyed Earth by the time I found it. Already found my way to Olympus."

At that, Sheppard looked up at him. "Olympus?" he asked, confused. Michael grinned.

"Of course, I had heard they didn't tell you. Olympus. It is where humans fled after I took the Milky Way. But it is of little consequence anymore. When the Olympians in Atlantis find nothing to destroy me – and they will find nothing – they will return to their pitiful little foothold in the outer edges of the universe, and I will crush them, wiping humanity out for good."

Sheppard smiled smugly and crossed his arms. "Please. You forget how well I know you, Michael." He turned his head and looked up at him again, the cold amusement burning in his eyes. "If you could have destroyed their galaxy, you would have. If you could have destroyed Atlantis… you would have. I'm guessing you can't. Or won't. How far has your technology advanced in the last 50,000 years?"

He looked across at the hybrids and smirked at their all too familiar weapons. "You forget that I come from exactly the same time as you. And I recognise those weapons. Your computers. Your ships. It's all from a time so long ago that memory has faded into legend." He shifted, and completed the turn, facing Michael front on. "Let me guess. You can make it to this Olympus galaxy, but by the time you get there, your hyperdrives are taxed, your men are cranky from a long trip and your ships are too tired to do more than float while men and women fire all their available weapons at you. You've probably been besieging that galaxy since you found it, unable to further your hold. Because you have no access to a hyperdrive capable of intergalactic travel without serious repercussions."

He paused, watching his theory grow substance as rage flickered half-heartedly across Michael's tired face. He grinned, knowing he was hitting a sore spot. "That's why you want me to fix this ship. So you can take a long, hard look at how its hyperdrive works, use it to get through Atlantis' shields, and take a look at the stardrive on that. Because without either of them, you're stuck in limbo." He leaned forward, glad to have something to use against the half-Wraith, if for pure enjoyment rather than any actual gains. "And I bet it's frustrating the hell out of you."

He leaned back and watched Michael search his eyes. He did the same to his captor, and couldn't help but like what he found. Because those issues were obviously major problems in Michael's quest for universal domination.

Once again, he didn't see it coming. One minute Michael's hand was by his side, quivering but otherwise immobile. The next Sheppard had barely spotted its sudden surge in movement when it backhanded him hard across the face and he fell to the floor, the force of Michael's hit sending him sprawling away from the half-human. Hell, it was enough to make him see stars. He might have even blacked out for a moment.

When he regained his bearings, Michael was already speaking to one of the hybrid guards.

"Give him only enough food and water to keep him alive," Sheppard's captor ordered, snarling. "Take him to the cell and leave him there. Keep him alive, but I don't care if he suffers for it. Just keep him alive."

* * *

Well, that's never good...


	10. Chapter 10: Grace Under Pressure

**Chapter 10: Grace Under Pressure**

By the time three days had passed, he was in a bad spot.

Not that his spot had been exactly good before that. And he was only ninety… okay, eighty percent sure it had been three days, but after what he assumed was that length of time, his whole spot had only grown worse.

He ate and drank only once a day, so far as he could tell, and he was damn hungry. The thirst came and went – mostly coming after he gulped down the glassful of filthy water the hybrid guards left him with. After a while that disappeared, which worried him, or it did once he could ignore the pain in his head long enough to think. His concussion was bad. Very bad. But the thirst disappeared, and he knew, or had heard, that not feeling thirsty when you were in fact incredibly parched was just your body's gentle and kind way of telling you that things weren't looking good.

There was also the matter of his injuries. The concussion was killing his head, his ribs hated him, his wrist was struggling admirably to compete with them both, and his bullet wound was… really not good. But thankfully the hybrids kept the hitting down to a bare minimum.

Added to that was the fact that once a day, the hybrids, sometimes with Michael in regal attendance, dragged him out to that damn Lantean warship, walked him through it level by level, hoping his ATA gene would just switch something on. And he had to admit, the longer he went without enough food or water, the harder it was to concentrate on keeping things switched off and not suddenly thinking, _oh, wonder what that does_.

To complete the picture, his infection had indeed blown out of proportions into a fever by the end of the first day, and he was beginning to spend the days in his cell alternating between shivering and being far too hot, aching all over and not able to get respite because apparently these hybrids didn't know a damn thing about medicine or morphine, or whatever the hell it was that doctors usually fed him to relieve the affects of the fever. Because he highly doubted it would relieve itself.

Oh, and then there were the hallucinations.

They started on the morning of his third day stuck in his cell. The hybrids had just left his half-plate of food and tin cup of water, and he was crawling over to it, shivering, aching and barely able to stand. The day before the hybrids had had to all but drag him back to this dank, dark prison.

"That stuff looks worse than the crap they used to serve in the mess hall."

Sheppard jumped, spinning where he sat and sloshing half the cup over his hand. And there, standing in a corner, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, was…

"McKay?" he demanded hoarsely, putting his plate on the ground before he dropped it. He shook his head, not believing what he was seeing. "So much for my concussion going away," he muttered, sitting back against the wall and looking up at the mirage.

"Actually, I'd say it's more a combination of that and your fever. You always did have a hard head." McKay shrugged. "A collision with a jumper window is nothing."

Sheppard sighed and closed his eyes, smiling gently at the sounds of his friend even as he tried to deny the hallucination. "The last time I saw you, McKay, you were a hell of a lot older."

"What's your point, John?" the man asked from his spot in the corner, and memory and knowing twisted Sheppard's gut, making him lose his smile and squint his eyes tight.

"You're not real, Rodney," he whispered, and when he opened his eyes again, he was alone.

* * *

They didn't even reach the ship that day before Sheppard's legs collapsed and he broke down into a shivering mess, lying on the floor. He struggled to get up, but his body just wouldn't respond. A pair of boots, too fine for a hybrid, appeared by his face, and a second later, Michael's sneering voice could be heard. Only it wasn't so amused or happy, and Sheppard tried to grin. But even his mouth seemed tired, his teeth ached and his head was beginning to pound again.

"Take him back to the cell," Michael ordered, his voice coming from far away. "Get him something for the fever. Do whatever it takes to keep him alive."

Something picked him up by his arms, and he began moving. He had to close his eyes, the passing by of the floor making him dizzy and nauseas, like watching a passing road in a speeding car. He had always wondered what travel sickness felt like.

The hybrids hauled him back to his cell and left him lying, near unconscious in the middle of the cell. He heard them leave, and rolled over, groaning as his body protested. This couldn't be good, he thought as he closed his eyes.

It only added to his worries when he felt a cool hand on his forehead, even though he knew there was no one else in the cell. He shifted, and a soft voice shushed him, soothing the pain from his forehead.

"Easy, John," Teyla's faint voice called, light and otherworldly, as if she wasn't completely there. Not that she was, of course.

When the hybrid returned, Sheppard was unconscious and he didn't feel it as the medic stuck a needle into his arm.

* * *

The next time he woke, he was back on the cold table, and it felt like he was rising through air as thick as water. He could hear, sort of, hear voices that came to him as distorted words and patterns, filtering through the foggy surroundings his mind had sought.

He tried not to move, being very aware that he was unlikely to have been rescued in the hopefully short time since he had fallen unconscious. With the memory of Teyla's hand caressing his forehead.

He murmured something at that, and shifted, before lying still once more, clutching at consciousness. The two voices paused, and he imagined the owners of those voices looking at him. A moment later, satisfied that he wasn't with them, the two voices started up once more.

"I do not want medical jargon," one of those voices snapped, and even distorted as it was, Sheppard recognised it as belonging to Michael. No one else would be speaking in that smug, all-knowing, demanding tone. "Tell me, in plain terminology, why he cannot fix my ship."

The pilot would have laughed at that, if he had had the chance. If he had had the energy. _My ship_. As if Michael could ever truly own Lantean technology. As if Sheppard would fix it for him in any case.

There was a heavy swallow, and the colonel guessed it belonged to a hybrid version of a doctor. Who was obviously afraid in the face of Michael's wrath.

"It's his injuries," the hybrid doctor explained slowly. "His concussion and a fever from an infection in his shoulder. It's made him weak, sick, and with his various other injuries, it is just too much for his body to handle."

"Why aren't you doing anything to help him?" Michael demanded. "I know we have medicines aplenty, that hold back the fever, and heal, and stop pain."

"We've been giving him doses to keep his mind clear." The doctor sounded like he had gone through this before. "Apart from that… I tried to keep his wounds clean, and I tried to keep him healthy. But he's…"

The doctor trailed off, and Michael laughed as he got it. "He doesn't want to get better. Does he?" There was another sinister chuckle, and Sheppard felt the ex-Wraith's gaze slide over him. "Pathetic human, so willing to give up."

He obviously turned back to his underling. "No matter what it takes, keep him alive. Give him whatever you need to give him, but he must live out the week. If he doesn't, you will die with him."

"There are a combination of drugs I've been wanting to try," the doctor informed Michael. "If he only needs to live out the week… it'll tax his systems, but it should do the trick, if I can tweak it enough to suit a human."

"I don't care. Just keep him alive." There was a swish as Michael turned on the spot, and then a sharp screech as the door opened and then closed. Sheppard was left alone with the hybrid and the sinking feeling he wasn't going to like what was about to happen.

But there wasn't much he could do about it, restrained as he was. He slid back into unconsciousness, the sounds of the doctor readying something nearby a sickening lullaby pulling him down.

* * *

The next time Sheppard opened his eyes, he was back in his cell, and his eyes were blurry, heavy and sore. He rolled over onto his back, blinking purposefully, wondering what was going on for a moment. He wasn't sure he was still with Michael.

He felt better. Not sore, not tired, not sick, not anything. In fact, he felt jittery, hyperactive, a stark contrast to the lethargy he was used to. He felt strong, and aware, and… just better.

He sat up, and quickly put a hand to his head as a wave of dizziness hit him. And then winced as he felt the heat. He still had a fever. He frowned at that. He didn't feel like he had a fever.

He looked himself over. He was still injured. And obviously still sick. And he was shaking. His hands couldn't keep still as he stared at them, as if they were the image of his spiked energy inside.

He got to his feet, again ignoring vertigo, suddenly too restless to stay still. Licking his lips he looked around the cell, spotting the plate of food, ignoring it, not feeling any hunger. What had happened? What had he missed?

What had the hybrid doctor given him?

He felt good. He felt too good, and he was well aware of that. He felt alive, properly alive, for the first time since he had woken from stasis. And he shouldn't be. He should be nearly dead.

A little frightened now, he jumped as the lock on the door scraped open. He turned around in time to see Michael coming through, hands behind his back, a happy smile on his face.

"Good to see you on your feet, Colonel Sheppard," the ex-Wraith informed him, pausing a few feet from the door. Three hybrids stood behind him, watching the pilot with careful glares.

"What did you do to me?" Sheppard demanded breathlessly, looking around, nerves getting the better of him. He felt on edge, anxious, and he couldn't calm down.

Michael grinned. "Just a little something to keep you with us a little longer," the half-human told him. "My medic tells me you were dying."

Sheppard shook his head. "I'm still dying," he spat. "You're just making sure it takes longer."

"True. Longer, and more painful, no doubt." Michael's grin faded slightly, and he shifted on his feet. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

He turned swiftly and exited the cell. Sheppard didn't move for a moment, or at least, didn't move his feet. His hands couldn't stop shaking. But either Michael didn't notice, or he trusted his hybrids would bring him if he didn't cooperate.

Trying to still his thoughts long enough to think straight, he started forward, taking a deep breath as if that would do anything to calm his nerves. The hybrids fell in behind him, and they walked in silence down to the warship's hanger.

They didn't enter the Lantean vessel though. Michael led him to a table laden with a Wraith computer and various small tools. Looking at it, Sheppard suddenly got a bad feeling. As if Michael was about to show him something he really didn't want to know or see. Again.

"I've been thinking about what you said, Sheppard," Michael told him. "About not giving up your fair city. About not helping me."

He leaned over the computer and started tapping away. Sheppard watched him, shifting on his feet, unable to keep still even as dots flashed up on the screen, along with a few lines and some Wraith writing and other things that Sheppard didn't understand. But he understood enough. Enough to know what he was looking at. His breath caught in his throat, and his knees nearly collapsed from underneath him. Michael smiled in triumph as he looked around and saw the shell-shocked colonel.

"I was hoping you would understand this," he told Sheppard. Michael pointed to a single dot on the screen, representing a planet. The right planet. Or wrong one, depending on the point of view. "Atlantis."

Sheppard tried to shake his head, tried to deny it, but the drugs keeping him anxious seemed to be frying his mind as well, and he couldn't keep his thoughts still long enough to form a coherent argument against the truth. It made him feel sick, horrified, unable to shake the sudden feeling that his great city wasn't going to be around for much longer.

Michael chuckled. "I told you I knew where it was. And in three days, I'm leaving this planet and flying to that one. And I'm going to attack your city. With or without that ship to breach the shields."

Sheppard licked his lips and tore his gaze away from the computer. "Well it won't be with," he snapped, crossing and then uncrossing his arms. One last, possible act of defiance. "If you think the knowledge that you're going to Atlantis-."

Michael waved his hand and cut him off. "I am fully aware, Sheppard, that you would be most unwilling to help us, probably even more so knowing this. Even the inevitable uselessness of your defiance will not be enough to persuade you."

He said it matter-of-factly, and Sheppard glared at him. "So why the whole keep me alive charade?" he demanded, shifting again. Watching him, Michael grinned.

"Because I still hope I can convince you," the ex-Wraith told him. "I have just realized it may require a… different tact."

He leaned back on the table, and for a moment there was complete silence. The two of them, enemies for 50,000 years, just stared at each other, each refusing to drop the gaze. And then Michael grinned.

"Three days, Sheppard. That's how long you have to make yourself useful."

"Not a chance!" he spat, taking a step forward. The hybrids around him all put a hand to their stunners, but they didn't draw. Michael just kept on talking.

"At the end of that three days, I am firing up my ships, and taking them all to Atlantis. There, I will bombard your Ancient city until it is dust and ash. The last stand of the Ancients and their kin. The last foothold of your pitiful ancestors will fall, like so many of their cities before them."

Michael walked forward, until he was only inches away from Sheppard's glaring face. The pilot's heart beat fast, rapid, and he was having trouble breathing.

"And you know what you will be doing?" Michael demanded in a seething whisper. "You will be watching it. All of it. The medic tells me you have at least a week. It takes two days to get there. That still leaves you at least two days of suffering, of watching Atlantis be torn apart. Of me, making you suffer. Retribution for all the suffering you and your kind put me through."

Breathing only with an effort, Sheppard glared up at him, hatred flowing through his veins. "I don't care. I'm still not helping you." He was shaking more from anger now, rather than the drugs the medic had given him. "The people from Olympus will find plenty there to tear you down. And I'm not about to help you destroy them."

"And I'm coming to accept that," Michael told him quickly. "But if you do help me fix my ship, I'll keep Atlantis in more or less one piece. And I'll let you die, with… at least a little more peace and dignity."

Sheppard crossed his arms and tilted his head up in defiance. "I've lived all my life without peace and dignity. No need to take them on now."

He leaned in, until his nose was almost touching Michael's. He knew what he had to say, and he managed to calm himself long enough to get it out, despite fear and panic threatening to tear him down.

"So bring it on."


	11. Chapter 11: Adrift

**Chapter 11: Adrift**

Once he was back in his cell he didn't stop, didn't rest, just paced between walls, breathing heavily, thoughts racing almost too fast to keep up.

This wasn't good.

Michael knew where Atlantis was. And if Sheppard didn't help him, he would destroy it. But if he did help, the Olympians would be murdered. All of them. Every single human being in the Olympus galaxy. There was no way he would sacrifice the remainder of his people, of his race, just for the city.

Then again, if he didn't help, and Michael did destroy Atlantis, would the Olympians get out in time? Would they be able to get the gate open in time? Surely they would. Surely the would be able to escape back to their own galaxy before Michael destroyed Atlantis.

If they had warning. If they had time. If Michael didn't dial Atlantis and block their escape before they knew he was there. Typical Wraith tactics. And he doubted if the Olympians would a, have advanced warning of Michael's attack, and b, even know about those kinds of tactics if they did have warning.

He needed to get out of here.

The thought hit him hard, and it was a big enough idea to make him stop and actually think properly. Taking a deep breath, he realized how right he was. He really had to get out of here.

"About time."

Sheppard slowly turned and smiled as he saw Ronon leaning back against the door. And then he frowned, shaking his head, trying to remember when Ronon had arrived, because he hadn't heard the cell door…

Taking a deep breath, Sheppard looked away, away from Ronon and the sudden realization that the Satedan was an hallucination. Away from the sudden realization that he was beginning to lose it.

"So, what's the plan?" Ronon asked, and Sheppard backed up into the wall, before sliding down it and hiding his face in his arms.

"No plan," the pilot mumbled, shaking his head, trying to deny the truth once more. "I don't know… I can't do it, Ronon. I have to, I need to, but I can't. I'm losing my mind."

He swore he felt the big man squat before him, swore he felt the presence of his friend even when that friend had been killed so many years before. This was really not good.

"That's just stupid, Sheppard," Ronon informed him. "Of course you can do it. Come on, you never struck me as the quitting type."

"That was a long time ago," Sheppard whispered, still refusing to look up. "I never had a reason to quit. I always had a reason to keep on going."

"And you do now. Get to your feet, soldier."

Sheppard shook his head again. "No. Go away, Ronon. Leave me alone. Go away." He tried willing the hallucination to do his bidding, but his head was apparently too far gone to listen to orders. Well, it had always had trouble with them.

"Why?" Ronon asked, and the pilot could tell he was frowning. Troubled. Worried. All the things he would be if he were real, and Sheppard were talking to him like that.

Was it so impossible?

But the pilot still didn't look up, knowing, or at least, half-knowing that Ronon had died. "Because you're not real," he whispered, just like he had whispered to McKay, and it broke his heart. "Because you died a long time ago, and now I'm just tormenting myself before Michael even gets a chance."

"That's right," Ronon suddenly snapped, his voice harsh, dry, scorched. Surprised, Sheppard looked up. And nearly screamed.

A face burned to a crisp stared back at him, the eyes of his old friend the only bit untouched by fire and black. Leaning as far away as he could, pressing himself into the wall, Sheppard bit on his tongue to stop the fear escaping into a verbal outlet. But it was hard, seeing his friend as he would have appeared moments before the explosion ripped him to shreds.

"I am dead," Ronon continued in that savaged voice, and his eyes narrowed, the skin around them cracking and weeping with the movement. "Because you didn't save me. You didn't save me Sheppard."

"I'm sorry," the colonel whispered. "I'm sorry, I tried, I tried to get back, but I couldn't."

"Excuses!" Ronon snarled, and this time Sheppard heard the charred skin break, making him flinch. "Come on Sheppard, own up. Why didn't you save me? Why weren't you there? Why are you just going to give up now?"

"I… I… No, I'm… Ronon, I tried, I swear to God."

"Your God doesn't exist anymore, Sheppard. He was destroyed with your planet. The planet you failed to save. And now you're failing to save Atlantis!"

"No!" Sheppard shouted, leaning forward. "If I could -."

"You can!" Ronon cried, interrupting him. The Satedan's eyes widened, and suddenly his charred skin began curling, peeling away from his body. Sheppard's eyes went wide, and he went pale, his stomach revolting at the sight of his friend…

"You can save Atlantis, Sheppard! Get your pansy ass out of here, and save our city. Do not let Michael destroy it! Do not!"

And with that final scream, Ronon exploded. And as pieces of his friend, blackened, bloody chunks of his friend flew everywhere, Sheppard finally couldn't hold it in anymore.

He screamed.

* * *

When the hybrid medic came into his cell that day, there was no sign that anyone had exploded in the room. No blood, no mess, besides that which Sheppard had created once he had stopped screaming. Nothing remained but the memory, and a still pale pilot cowering in the corner, unable to stop replaying the hallucination over and over in his head.

It was almost a relief when the medic entered the cell, accompanied by two big looking hybrids. It snapped Sheppard out of his stupor, and got him to his feet, head spin and shakes included. He watched the medic with an uneasy gaze, licking his lips as the hybrid pulled out a needle and a vial of a clear liquid.

"No," Sheppard told him, shaking his head. "I don't need it."

"I think I will decide if you need it or not," the medic informed him without even looking at him. He said it in a disdainful voice as well, and Sheppard realized that this hybrid was no doctor. No doctor would be so uncaring of a patient, not even one that was a prisoner.

He shook his head again, and eyed the two guards. Obviously they were there to help him comply. "I'm not letting you shove that in me."

The medic snorted. "As if you'll be able to stop me."

Sheppard had the feeling he was right, and in a short time, he was proven correct. A minute later, he had an extra bruise, and one hybrid had him in a headlock, face down on the ground, while the other held his arm out at an excruciating angle while the medic found a suitable vein. The tussle had been so short and one-sided that Sheppard was embarrassed by himself.

The medic finished injecting him and the hybrid guards got off of him, leaving him panting on the ground. Not from the fight, or even from the minimal amounts of air the headlock had allowed him, but from the sudden nausea drifting through his body, making him even more shaky and unsteady.

"Come. Michael wishes to see you."

Sheppard rolled over, squeezing his eyes tight against the queasiness, before looking up with swimming eyes at the twin hybrids staring down at him. A second later the two melded into one, and his vision was fine. He blinked.

"What, now?" he asked thickly. "Wow, two visits in one day. I must be special."

"You have no idea," the hybrid told him sweetly. "You're the man who made Michael into what he is today."

The comment cut, and Sheppard glared up at the medic. "You know, it wasn't just me. And I happened to be following orders."

The medic gave a short, heartless laugh. "Get up, Sheppard," he ordered, still chuckling. The pilot obeyed, fighting the dizziness that he wasn't sure he had ever been without. It was so constant he wondered if he would ever be able to –

Suddenly he was back on the floor, cheek swelling, stars slowly fading from his sight. He groaned, feeling his head thump once in agreement, and sat up again, wincing as everything began hurting again.

Would it never end?

But he struggled to his feet, and managed to glare at the smirking hybrid, reining in that strong urge to flatten it. The very strong urge. The hybrid must have noticed, because its smirk widened.

"Just following orders," it told him, before turning and nodding at the two guards again. Sheppard didn't move as they walked forward and grabbed his arms, just let himself be dragged forward.

He knew the path to the ship's hanger well by now, so barely paid attention as they moved through the hallways and out into the cavernous warehouse. The size still shocked him, the ship still taking his breath away.

He was marched on board and taken once more to the bridge, the windows overlooking the forward half of the ship. He moved to look out, ignoring the hybrids as they paused by his door, the medic having disappeared sometime before. This ship really was something. He wondered what the Ancients had called it.

"We should find out."

Sheppard jumped and spun, nearly falling after a wave of nausea hit him. He had to take a hold of the window behind him to stop from dropping to the floor.

Neither the hybrids nor McKay seemed to notice. In fact, the scientist just kept plugging his computer cords into the Ancient terminals, as if he wasn't in Michael's safe house, and as if they weren't _not_ trying to help the bastard.

"McKay, what are you doing?" Sheppard asked in a whisper, checking the hybrids hadn't noticed anything. He frowned, trying to remember who else had been with him when he was captured. Goldman, that kid, that older guy… had McKay been… No, he hadn't. McKay was… what was McKay? "And what are you doing _here_?"

The scientist frowned up at him, and turned slightly, so his hip was leaning against the terminal. He gave the pilot a look of pity. "Wow, are you that far gone?" he asked softly. He was worried.

"What?" Sheppard demanded, not understanding. "Gone? No… Rodney, when did you get here? I don't remember you being with me when Michael got me…"

McKay shook his head slowly. "I wasn't. Or at least, McKay wasn't. He died 50,000 years ago, remember? I'm just an illusion, John."

That made Sheppard pause, gaping as memory forced its way through the fog and made itself known. He backed away, putting a hand to his head, before bumping against the captain's chair and sliding down it.

"This isn't good," McKay told him from where he still stood over by the terminal. "You're getting confused. Dizzy. Sick."

"It's these damn drugs," Sheppard told him, shaking his head, trying to keep on remembering that he was talking to a hallucination.

The hallucination shook his head. "You were on this path long before those drugs. No, it's your head wound. And it's being given a friendly kick from your fever. Not fun. And I thought just a concussion was bad enough."

"Thanks," Sheppard told him dryly, trying to hid his fear. But it was hard to hide anything from himself.

Suddenly McKay was sitting in front of him, and the pilot looked up to stare at him. The man – illusion – had a soft look of worry on his face as he bit his lip.

"You're scared."

Sheppard began shaking his head, trying to deny it, but McKay just talked over the top of him. "You are so, Sheppard. You can't lie to me, because I am you. You're beginning to lose yourself. Your mind won't cooperate with you anymore. And its scaring the living daylights out of you." There was a pause. "You need to get out of here, John."

"Sheppard!"

Michael's voice suddenly intruded on his conversation with himself, and he snapped his head up to look as the ex-Wraith entered the bridge. He and his hybrids had their own looks of worry on their faces, though not for him. Probably more for his sanity than anything else.

Somewhere in the middle of this McKay had disappeared. Just stopping from looking for him, the colonel noticed Michael taking another step forward, his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Talking to someone, Sheppard?"

"No." He licked his lips and stood, crossing his arms defiantly. At least now, or at the moment, he was able to control and rein in the excess energy flowing through him. "You wanted to see me?"

"I had wondered if you had changed your mind," Michael told him, moving forward again, towards the captain's chair. "I wanted to see if you were going to get this ship working for me or not."

"No, it's still a not," Sheppard spat, watching his foe's every movement. Watching Michael as he waltzed around the chair the pilot was standing in front of, like he was circling his prey.

"That is too bad," Michael said airily. "I had thought the promise of suffering and your own natural curiosity, along with the fact that you owe no allegiance to the people of the Olympus galaxy… I had thought that would be enough to overcome your hesitancy."

Sheppard shifted where he stood, determination setting his jaw. "Yeah, well, you thought wrong," he told Michael. "I hope I never have to say this again. I will not help you with this damn ship!"

Michael finished his slow circle and came to stand in front of him. "Ah, but I haven't finished." He grinned deeply, creating shadows on his face. "I was going to say, I had thought that would be enough… with a little persuasion. Of sorts."

He reached out to grab Sheppard's shoulder, just lightly. It didn't stop the colonel from flinching though, nor from grabbing the offending hand, not liking where this was going.

"Screw your persuasion," he spat back breathlessly, trying to remove the hand. But it was like trying to move a tree. A really big tree at that. "I am not-."

He cut off with a grunt, tightening his own hold as Michael did the same. Pain shot through his entire arm, and he had to take several deep breaths to avoid crying out, or worse, screaming.

"You're not what, Sheppard?" Michael demanded, his grip tightening inexorably. "Not important." Tighter. "Not wanted." Tighter. And tighter. The same arm dropped lifelessly to his side, losing a hold on Michael's wrist. "Not meant to be here."

With a sharp cry Sheppard felt his knees give way, and he fell to the ground, still holding on tight to both Michael's hand and his need to vent. He grunted, panting, eyes blurring as the pain began spreading. Obviously expressing his own hate and frustration, Michael's thumb shifted until it found the nearly-healed wound on his shoulder, the small bullet hole covered by bandage and scab.

Sheppard flinched again, eyes watering as the ex-Wraith pressed down and broke the healing injury. His back threatened to collapse on him as well, but he tensed it immediately, not about to bow down before Michael anymore than he already was. Being on his knees was bad enough; he wasn't about to lay before him.

Blood began seeping, and Sheppard gasped, cutting it off before it could blow out into something, anything more. But Michael heard it, and sneering, he leaned down, tightening his grip once more so Sheppard's shoulder was almost being crushed. The silence in the bridge of the Lantean warship was intense, both captive and captor unwilling to back down.

And then, with a laugh, Michael let go. Relief surged through Sheppard, and he fell forward onto one arm, holding the other close to his body. Heaving, feeling sick and dizzy and hot, he managed to lean back, sitting on his legs, looking up at the half-human.

Still grinning, Michael leaned back. "Just a taste of what is to come, Sheppard," he warned, his amusement clear. "A small amount of what you will enjoy if you don't help us."

Sheppard glared up at him, before stumbling to his feet, and looking the creature in the eye. But he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, the fiery ache in his shoulder distracting. Almost as distracting as the little voices in his head wondering if he could actually hold out against more. After all he had gone through, could he do it?

Michael must have seen the doubts in his eyes, because he grinned triumphantly and nodded at the hybrids.

"Take him back to his cell. Let me know when he wants to help,"

* * *

Back in his cell Sheppard collapsed in the corner, holding his arm close. He was shaking, unable to stop. He leaned his head against the cool wall, not caring about the probable bacteria and fungus crawling over it. It wasn't like he could get any worse.

Suddenly tired, he closed his eyes, and, uncaring of his concussion, of any of the other injuries that were probably life threatening, uncaring of the fact that he should be remaining alert and aware… he let himself slip into sleep, knowing he was inches from giving up entirely.

* * *

I know, it's not looking good, is it... But, it gets better from here, I swear! As if Sheppard could stay like this forever!

Hope I didn't over do it though...


	12. Chapter 12: Echoes

**Chapter 12: Echoes**

However much Sheppard wanted to just keep on sleeping until he died, he was never going to get over years of training and instinct. So when the door to his cell squealed open, his eyes shot open with it. He sat up, groaning as his arm protested, and tried to stand before the three hybrids entered his cell.

It was no use though – tired and sore, the effects of the afternoon's dose wearing off, the two guards were on him in an instant, pulling him forward and roughly spinning him on the ground. He cried out at the rough treatment, and they ignored him, holding out the same arm and pinning him down.

The needle pinched his arm, and he gave a smothered jerk, a muffled groan. The medic said nothing, just kept his arm down as the drugs entered his system. Then, with a final shove, all three of them got up and left, without ever saying a word.

Sheppard sat up as they left, pulling his arm close again, and looking around, feeling the drugs beginning to do their thing. Keeping him alive when he probably should have been dead days ago. And watching the door close, he decided that that was going to be their undoing.

He stumbled to his feet, his earlier tiredness having disappeared. He watched the closed door, snarling silently, and then formed a plan in his mind, smiling slightly as it gathered promise and substance.

His hallucinations were right. Or rather, he was, considering the hallucinations were him anyway. But he was right, his subconscious was right, his ideas of Ronon and McKay were right. He had had enough. He wasn't going to do this anymore. He wouldn't play Michael's game.

He was going to escape or die trying.

* * *

When the next injection came, Sheppard's resolve had not wavered. He sat, barely blinking, storing and gathering his energy, breathing deeply, shoving away all the pain he had been feeling until he was nearly completely numb.

He thought it was morning. His body clock, while most likely slightly skewed, had always been relatively good and steady, and he got the feeling dawn was close or just gone. A perfect time to escape.

His eyes were closed, and he sat, meditating like Teyla had shown him 50,000 years ago. And those people in the time dilation field. Six months of daily meditation easily made you a pro. By the time he heard footsteps approaching his cell, soft clicks on the hard floor, he was more than ready.

His eyes flickered open, and he jumped to his feet, spry and feeling young for the first time in so long. God, he had been feeling the years even before he had shot into the future. But now… he really was ready. He was getting out of here or he would force them to kill him. Either way, it was an escape.

Steeling himself, he leaned his good shoulder into the door, unable to help a soft grin as he heard the lock slide open. A second later he gathered his strength and shoved all of it into keeping the door closed.

It worked, even against two of the hybrids. He felt that charged, and without movement, while barely breathing with the meditation, the drugs the medic had fed him hadn't had a chance to dissipate. He had already figured out it worked similarly to the Wraith enzyme Ford had been addicted to. And after three doses close together, he was feeling so strong.

Like he had said, it would be their undoing.

The hybrids were pushing as hard as they could; Sheppard could hear them both grunting with the effort, putting all available effort into it.

With a grin, he stepped back, twisting to the side as the two hybrids fell forward into the room.

One passed right by him, and he grabbed the hilt of the knife from its belt as it went by. Putting his foot into its path, he aided its trip down to the ground, and the knife ripped from its belt. He followed it down, planting the stolen weapon in its back and slicing the spinal cord.

That took barely half a second, and then he was up and moving backwards, away from the other hybrid as it stumbled to keep its feet and remain upright. It had barely regained its height when he attacked, slashing with the knife, forcing it back into the doorway to keep the medic out of the fight. Grinning, but not knowing how particularly nasty his grin looked, he kicked it in the gut, planting his foot squarely in the bottom of its ribs. The hybrid doubled over, but Sheppard was there, waiting, with the knife poised. Blood rained over his hand as the knife ploughed through its throat.

Ripping the blade back out with a savage thirst for vengeance, Sheppard stepped back to let the creation drop to the ground, its death slow and messy.

The medic stood, watching him, panic and anger battling out. Apparently panic won out, because after glancing quickly at Sheppard's blood drenched hand, it turned and ran.

The pilot was already on the move. He didn't want the alarm sounded just yet. Besides, the sudden need to hurt the bastard spurred him on.

Grabbing a stunner from one of the fallen hybrids, he dashed out of the cell, took aim, and fired. The blast caught the medic in the lower back, and it splayed forward, sliding to a halt barely twenty-five feet from the cell door.

Sheppard jogged up to it, forcing it onto its back with his toe. He was a little disappointed to see it unconscious, but he could wait. For a moment, at least. He knelt by it, putting the stunner aside for a moment. He would have put it in his pants, but if he had to hurry to get it out, he didn't want anything down there stunned accidentally.

He searched the hybrid for the drugs it had been injecting in him, and felt gratified to find a few vials and the needle it had been using on him. Well, his mother always had told him you should only dish out what you could take.

He filled the needle with two of the vials and then looked down at the hybrid. And thought about what he was going to do. He was going to kill this creature in cold blood, not even in the heat of battle, someone he could just have left unconscious in the cell, something that had used to be a human.

"Who now serves Michael," McKay suddenly whispered in his ear, even though the man wasn't even there.

"Who treated you like a guinea pig. A test subject," Teyla agreed, her voice insistent and angry. He knew it wasn't them, but his hand shifted on the needle, holding it tight and ready over the hybrid's heart. It made sense, what they – his subconscious – was saying.

"Who didn't care that he was killing you," Ronon added from nowhere, and Sheppard's hand tightened. It would be a painful death. Very painful, if what he had been going through was any indication.

"Its the least he deserves," McKay spat. "He would have done worse, if he had had the chance."

"Just do it, Sheppard."

Just do it. Could he? He wasn't fighting this man. Then again, this hybrid wouldn't even flinch over killing him. Wouldn't give a damn, would just move onto his next victim.

"Do it!"

And Sheppard's hand plunged, jabbing the needle right into the hybrid's heart and filling it with the same thing that had been keeping his battered body alive.

To the healthy hybrid, it was like an electric volt. The thing's eyes popped open, and Sheppard had to grab its mouth to stop it from crying out as it began jerking. Trying to keep it down, he grunted, feeling both satisfied and sickened as it kept trying to scream with the intense energy flooding its every limb, muscle and bone. Its eyes watered with the pain, but Sheppard kept the noise to a minimum as the jerking and flaying slowly quietened and then died with the hybrid.

He had never killed a man like that. Sheppard sat back, grabbing onto the stunner again, the hallway suddenly oppressive with the dead body lying in front of him and the otherwise overwhelming silence of the surrounding area. To murder a man, or hybrid of a man at least, like that, slow, painful, just because it had hurt him… He had never thought he would, or _could_ do that.

"Get over it," Ronon's voice ordered softly, and if he closed his eyes, Sheppard could just imagine him squatting beside him. Him, and Ronon and Teyla: his team. God he missed his team.

"Get up, John," Teyla ordered softly.

"You can't stop now, Sheppard," Rodney added, just as insistent. "Get up. Come on, Colonel. On your feet."

But whatever energy he had stored seemed to be gone, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, could feel himself slipping. If he could just sit up… could just…

"Up!" his team shouted, and he jerked awake, though he was nowhere near strong enough to execute the rest of his plan. Thinking strategy, and probably none too clearly, he grabbed the needle from the hybrid's chest. Taking a deep breath, knowing he shouldn't be doing this, he half-emptied the last vial into the needle, realizing he no clue how much the medic usually gave him, or how much was safe. So he guessed, and then stabbed it into his arm, right in the same entry point the hybrid he had just killed had used.

Like before, it worked within moments, and every limb tingled with the sudden strength and energy flooding him. For a moment he panicked that it was too much strength and energy. But slowly he calmed down, sort of, if you could call bouncing calm. But he was alive, and he felt… great.

Looking around, he stood and grabbed the hybrid by the legs, dragging it back into his cell. Then he locked the three bodies in his old cell and ran in the opposite direction, away from the spaceship hanger. He needed to find some stairs.

It didn't take long. There were some about fifty metres down from his cell, and he took them, jogging up, revelling in the vigour he was feeling, taking two steps at a time.

They took him up one flight, and at the top he paused, taking a tight hold on the stunner and looking around both corners. The corridor seemed to be empty, for which he was thankful. Sliding around the corner, he followed the wall to his right, bare feet silent on the floor, towards a set of stairs he could see twenty metres down the hall.

Again he went up, hoping he was getting to the right level now. He had been on the ground floor of the hanger, and he had guessed the Stargate was on the second level. He hoped he had guessed right.

At the top of the stairs he looked around, and then back, hissing softly as he found himself not as lucky as before. Three hybrids patrolled the corridor, hands on their stunners. He leaned against the wall, took an easy, confident hold on the stunner, knife's blade gentle against the inside of his forearm. And told himself he could do this. He could.

Stunner up, he spun around the corner, aiming at and taking out two hybrids before they had even noticed he was there. Wincing at the noise it made, he nevertheless shot the third and last hybrid unconscious before it even had its stunner out completely. Guessing what he wanted was down the guarded path, he jogged on, stunner up now, instead of waiting expectantly by his side.

He kept his pace to a slow jog, wanting to be out of here before those hybrids were discovered, but not too impatient to be out of here that he would run into something he couldn't handle.

Like what was waiting for him around the next corner.

Swearing, he ducked back around. He recognised the hallway, which just made the six hybrids waiting there all the worse. He could take out three, maybe four, but six was asking for trouble.

Then again, it was the only way he knew, and he didn't want to wander around Michael's base until someone raised the alarm that he had escaped and hunted him down and took him back. It was escape or death. He wouldn't settle for anything in between.

So, taking a deep breath, he remembered the corridor, where the hybrids had been positioned, and swung around, stunning two of them as he ran across the hallway and ducked around the corner of an adjoining corridor.

Their stunner blasts followed him, and he winced, knowing they were on their toes now. Hopefully they wouldn't radio for help. Not that he had seen any radios on these people.

He squatted and then moved back around the corridor, taking out another hybrid before they realized he had ducked lower than their blasts. He jumped out of the way of one, two, three blasts, and came up in front of a fourth hybrid, rolling the knife in his hand and plunging it into the chest of his shield as it took four stunner blasts for him.

The hybrid dropped, and Sheppard took aim over its descending head, stunning the last two of his foes quickly, before they regained their composure and aim.

Which left him alone in a corridor, having somehow taken out six hybrids. Even he was amazed. Then again, he had taken out sixty Genii soldiers without even taking a hit. It was all about the element of surprise.

Taking a deep breath, but still feeling strangely energetic, he took a second stunner and took off, jogging once more, confidence growing now that he knew where he was and where he was going. But the tension rose with it, because, as much as he wanted to kill Michael, he needed to escape more. And this hallway led right to Michael's office.

He slowed as he reached the corner, and looked around. Again, hybrids waited, though, like the others, they were relaxed and unsuspecting. Looked like his luck was in at the moment. Hopefully it would hold.

But there were still another four hybrids between him and Michael's office, and who knew how many between him and the Stargate. Still, he had just taken out six. How hard could four be?

As it turned out, surprisingly hard.

He rounded the corner, shooting at the nearest hybrid and its mate. He got one, but somehow missed the other as a wave of dizziness nearly floored him. He stumbled, and, gaping, headed for a door, praying that it was open.

But apparently his luck was on a break, and no matter how hard he rattled the door, it wouldn't budge. And behind him, a large shape raised its hand, weapon aimed at him.

He rolled against the wall, moving quickly to the side, and the stunner blast hit the door, shaking it but similarly failing to open it. Rolling around so his back was against the wall, Sheppard found a hybrid close by, and took aim, taking it out. But not its two friends.

They closed in, obviously having forsaken faith in their trusty sidearms. One moved faster than the other, and upon reaching him first, took aim with a fist.

Sheppard ducked, and was glad he had when the fist went through the wall. The hybrid gave a low howl, and the pilot used the distraction to his advantage, kneeing the creature in its ribs while pushing down on its back. Then he spun into it, under its trapped arm, dropped one stunner, twisted the knife in his grip and stabbed the hybrid low in the stomach, slicing across and down until its insides fell out.

Ignoring the putrid smell, Sheppard spun out, trying not to gag. The fourth hybrid was staring at him, shocked, and, uncaring about the systematic and harsh defence he was using, stunned it before it could move or cry out.

Knowing the smell would attract more, he moved out, trying to run, or even walk in a straight line. But the dizziness wasn't going away, and he knew he was running out of time.

Thankfully the Stargate was close, and, even better, his luck was right back on track. He didn't meet one more hybrid as he found the doors to the gate room and softly closed them behind him. He took aim with the stunner, and blasted the lock, hoping that would keep them out for a while.

Panting slightly, and unaware his shoulder wound had broken open again, he stumbled to the DHD, grinning slightly as he dialled the address. A moment later, the vortex of the Stargate lit the room, and the shimmering blue of the event horizon took his breath away.

And then the alarm sounded, alerted either by the activation of the Stargate or by sheer coincidence that the unconscious or dead hybrids had been found at exactly the same time. Either way, he could hear pounding feet already.

It didn't matter. In fact, it was all apart of his plan.

Chuckling, and looking behind him at the door as someone began pounding on it, he ran forward, actually looking forward to the next phase of his plan.

* * *

What has he got planned? Kudos to anyone who figures it out!


	13. Chapter 13: Instinct

**Author's Note:** Wow, this is a long chapter. But it's a good one, I think. Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, it means a lot to me, so, thank you!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Instinct**

Sheppard ran towards the Stargate… and then around it, heading for the balcony from which he had first seen the Lantean warship. He wasn't about to leave it behind. Not when it would be so useful against the hybrids when they came.

Besides, if you were going to escape, why not make it clever.

And hopefully the spacegate on the other end of the Stargate's connection would make Michael's numbers dwindle. He knew hybrids were tough, but he seriously doubted they could survive a spacewalk.

He moved quickly but quietly through the doors onto the balcony, only opening them enough to slip through, and making sure they didn't bang shut and alert anyone to his presence.

On the balcony, he dropped to his stomach, sliding forward to check out what was happening on the ground floor. And, thankfully, most of the hybrids seemed to be leaving, called by the alarm that had come on when he had activated the gate.

Which still left several hybrids, but hopefully they wouldn't spot him until he was down there killing them. Hopefully his luck would continue to hold.

He moved back and stood, hearing the doors on the other side of the Gate room bang open. It was time to move.

Wishing he had somewhere else to put them, Sheppard tucked the stunner into his pants, and, after cleaning off as much hybrid blood as he could, clenched the knife between his teeth. Keeping close to the wall, he climbed over the railing, searching the wall, making sure he could climb down it.

Licking his lips he decided he could. He was dizzy, a little nauseas, and getting tired, but he could do this. It was only two stories, and there were plenty of support beams and such to hold onto. He had climbed up the side of Atlantis' central tower – he could climb down this.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed onto the first cross beam, before stepping out onto a horizontal one. Once he was sure it could take his weight, he swung across, flattening his body against the wall, and taking another deep breath through nearly closed teeth as he didn't fall. He could do this. He could. No doubt about it. At all.

Seriously.

Taking a third deep breath, he began the slow descent down the wall of the massive warship hanger.

To his huge relief, there were no problems. The wall was so supported there was a beam of some kind everywhere he needed to put a hand or a foot. Not to say that it was easy. By the time he was halfway down, his arms were burning, and he felt nauseas from the smell and taste of hybrid blood in his mouth, still dripping from the knife. But there was no way he could get rid of it while climbing down a wall. If he let it drop, he was still so far up that it would make a huge noise and attract attention. Besides, he had to admit he had become kind of attached to it.

Soon the ground was in sight, and he took another deep breath – though his fourth had been a long time ago, or so it seemed – and he jumped the last couple of feet to land nimbly on his bare toes.

He turned and leaned back into the shadows of the balcony overhead. The hanger seemed to have almost completely cleared of hybrids, leaving just a few between him and the ship.

Or at least a few that he could see. He was further back than the entrance to the ship, and it faced the other way, so he had no idea if any were guarding there or not. And he already counted seven. He wasn't sure how many more he could handle.

And he was tiring. Whatever was in that drug the medic had been giving him, it was wearing off. He could only hope he had enough to get him on that ship, where brain could overtake brawn and he would be able to blast his way out of here. With brain overtaking brawn, of course.

Well, if he waited any longer, he would run out of time as well as strength. Pulling the stunner back out of his pants, and taking the knife in an easy underhanded hold, he took a final deep breath and moved out from under the shadows.

But he didn't want to stun them before he was close enough for them to risk stunning each other. Otherwise they would be able to aim at him all too easily. So he followed the wall, aiming for the door he had come through from his cell. Halfway between the balcony and the door, he broke away, aiming for the group of hybrids.

Luck was still with him, and they didn't see him until it was almost too late. They gave a collective cry, and turned on him, moving to pull out stunners. Sheppard pulled his up, grinning as the hybrids moved slowly. Too slowly. They had had too long without a challenge and now he was going to make them pay the price of complacency.

He fired three rounds, taking out three of his foes before they could get a shot off, and by then, he was among them, and they couldn't risk firing their now out stunners in case they hit one of their own men.

Which wasn't to say Sheppard was exactly at an advantage. It was still (at least) four onto one, and he was the only one injured, and the only one who was completely human.

They all rushed him at once, and the pilot managed to drop one more hybrid before one behind him grabbed him tight around his ribs. And squeezed.

He couldn't help but cry out, his ribs screaming with the pressure as he dropped the stunner. His eyes blurred, watering for a second, and when he finally managed to work through the pain that had otherwise been forcefully forgotten, there was a hybrid fist coming at him.

He leaned back into the one holding him and brought his legs up, bunching his stomach muscles to kick out hard with both feet. The hybrid rushing in rushed back out, quite obviously winded.

The recoil forced the hybrid holding him to stumble back, and Sheppard aided the coming fall by keeping his legs up, and weight back. They both fell, and as the pilot landed on top, the hybrid beneath him gave a sharp gasp and let go, winded and dazed.

Somehow he had managed to keep a hold of the knife, and using the moment, Sheppard plunged the blade into the hybrid's side, before rolling off of it and rising to his feet.

Not for long. The third hybrid used Sheppard's own moment of distraction to close in, before lashing out with vicious backhand. The colonel spun away, lights flashing over his sight as he fell once more to the ground. He quickly came to, but only quickly enough to see the foot swinging his way and try to get a hand out to stop it.

It worked, sort of. He blocked the foot before it hit his ribs – which would have definitely meant endgame – but the strength behind the kick was so incredible that he still slid backwards over the rough ground.

He tried to ignore the scrapes and staggered to his feet, a wave of nausea rolling over him. He spun the knife in his hand to cover any visible weakness, and waited for the hybrid to come to him.

That was until he saw the hybrid he had kicked down. The hybrid that was reaching for the stunner lying close by and bringing it up to aim at him.

Sheppard ran in, surprising the hybrid who had been walking somewhat menacingly forward. But he managed to get it between him and the hybrid aiming for him just as it pulled the trigger.

The standing hybrid jerked once as the blast hit it, and then it fell forward, unconscious, towards Sheppard. Moving quickly, he danced to the side, not forgetting about the hybrid shooting at him. Thinking back to his lessons with Ronon, he flipped the knife in his hand and threw it, a lot faster than he had ever thought himself capable of being. Hell, it was even faster than the hybrid.

And the knife landed squarely in the hybrid's chest.

Stunned that his aim had improved while he had shot forward into the future, Sheppard didn't stop moving, even as the hybrid dropped, dying, to the ground. He wanted that knife back, and closing in on the stabbed hybrid, he jerked it out with a nasty twist.

Which left him having defeated –

He didn't even realize he had been tackled until he hit the ground, knocking his head hard enough to daze him as the force of being hit in the legs jerked his entire body.

Shaking his head he rolled over and looked around, and with swimming eyes, his sight landed on a bleeding hybrid getting to its feet to loom over him, a triumphant grin on its pale face.

Sheppard groaned, realizing it was the one who had grabbed him first. Obviously he hadn't killed it. Well, he guessed he would have to remedy that.

Like the human had, the hybrid assumed it had taken care of business, and it leaned down to pick up the bleeding, pale, shaking pilot. Determined to show it a thing or two about humans that had obviously been bred out after years of cloning and selective breeding, Sheppard focused – refusing to acknowledge just how hard that was – and punched it in its approaching nose.

Something cracked underneath his hand, and the hybrid flinched back, hands going to his broken nose. Just not fast enough. Gathering both strength and speed, but remaining on the floor, Sheppard brought his leg up and kicked the hybrid in the head before it had a chance to stand up straight, and hard enough for a resounding slap to echo about the hanger. The hybrid's eyes rolled into the back of its head and it dropped like a stone.

Sheppard let his leg drop, suddenly exhausted. But he could see the opening, see the entrance to the Lantean warship, and he was so close. He would be damned if he didn't make it now.

With a loud, heaving groan, he rolled over, getting his hands under his body in preparation to shove himself to his hands and knees. He took a deep breath and pushed, arms shaking as he hauled his aching body up. He still didn't feel any pain, or not really. He knew it was there, every bit of old injury reawakened, along with the new bump on his head to just help that concussion that was making him see things.

But for the moment it felt like it belonged to someone else. It was just the nausea and dizziness that he had trouble with as he staggered to his feet and started for the spacecraft.

He managed three, maybe three and a half stumbles before he fell back to his knees, the rough floor biting into the flesh as he doubled over, dry retching with sheer exhaustion. The drug was nearly completely out of his system, and he knew its effects were wearing off. His arms shook as they held up his upper body, and he had to sit back to avoid falling, as his vision swam and doubled.

Oh God, he wasn't going to be able to do it!

The thought nearly sent him mad. He was so close, he could see the opening, it was right there goddamn it, and he couldn't… he was just so tired. Why did it have to be so hard?

"On your feet Sheppard."

Ronon's insistent voice was barely a whisper, and the actual hallucination was nowhere to be seen, even by Sheppard. That, however, was probably a good thing, because the colonel was too far gone to even conceive of the idea of hallucination. Nevertheless, he responded to the order, and leaned forward once more, on his hands and knees, prepared to get up.

"It's so hard," he whispered to no one in particular, and had he been aware, he would have realized how hoarse and dry he was. How close to death he was.

"Just get to the ship, buddy," Ronon whispered. "Come on, you can do it. No giving up yet. You need to do this, Sheppard. On your feet."

"It's so far away."

It was whispered as well, and nearly defeated. When Ronon's voice came back, it was sympathetic, as if it knew that now was not the time for pep talks.

"Just get to the ship, Sheppard. Get out of here. And then you can rest. Just get out of here, and then you can sleep once more."

Bleary eyed, Sheppard looked up at the great ship. And then he snarled. Just to the ship? He could do that. Just to the ship.

And with a great effort, he heaved to his feet, and staggered the last distance to the ship's entrance.

The lights of the ship greeted him like an old friend, and Sheppard smiled with contentment as he let the artificial illumination wash over him. He reached out to drag a hand against the wall, and half closed his eyes. After remembering to close the hatch, of course, locking it with a thought so the entrance was sealed.

Safe, alive and happy, at least for the moment, he traced his steps to the bridge, following that path that he knew so well. It seemed to take forever this time, and halfway there he opened his eyes, the initial sensations of the ship fading away as he remembered exactly why he wasn't sure he could do this.

An instant later he felt Teyla by his side, and he smiled sadly for no reason he could fathom, half closing his eyes once more.

"That's it, John," she whispered to him, her voice warm and sad at the same time. "You are almost there."

"I'm so tired, Teyla," he whispered to her, though his bare feet never faltered. "And this will be for nothing anyway. Michael will come to Atlantis, the last free place of the Pegasus Galaxy, the last free city of your… our home."

"Yes," she agreed. "But keep on walking, keep on going. All is not lost. Life is precious to those who must hide, and for that it is all the sweeter when it is won."

He had to frown at that, opening his eyes to find himself alone. But he could still feel her presence. And in his state, the hallucination, his mind's talk with itself, it seemed natural.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her, head thinking – relatively – straight for a moment. "Then again, I hardly ever did."

"The Wraith could not destroy us, John," she told him, the first hint of impatience entering her imaginary voice. "What makes you think Michael could do what they did not."

And with that final word, he stumbled into the bridge, and he was alone once more. Not that it mattered. He needed to get out of here, before Michael started thinking that this ship was better destroyed than in the hands on someone who could actually use it.

He trembled with relief as he sunk down into the captain's chair, the seat warm and welcoming, fitting like a pair of old, comfortable boots. And, with a vicious grin, John put his hand on the small terminal in front of him and brought the ship to life.

Almost immediately he could feel it roaring with impatience and disuse. He shivered as he felt the systems and controls spring into being, feeding on the power like the wires and crystals had been deprived for centuries. Which, he guessed they had, but the ship felt almost… alive. Perhaps a later model, one built in the very heat of war, at the height of the Ancient's technological advances.

As the ship came online all around him, as powerful and ready as the day she… he was built, Sheppard couldn't help but feel revitalised, and he opened his eyes to escape this hell.

But first, the shields.

His fingers danced over the screen almost of their own accord, but the ship barely needed his touch, just his mind, and as he concentrated on bringing the shields up, the nearly impenetrable barriers sprung up all around the great spacecraft, an electric blue that covered the entire ship. Closing his eyes, Sheppard grinned upon seeing they were at full strength.

This ship had never been used, but if it had, Sheppard knew it could have turned the tide of the war. Maybe it still could.

Wishing he knew what was going on outside the ship, Sheppard opened his eyes and leaned forward, wondering what he had to do next. Now was when he could really use…

"Set a course," McKay told him, that usual annoying arrogance missing. "Plot it out, right through to Atlantis. You can do it."

The scientist was no where to be seen, but the instructions, in McKay's voice, reverberated around his head, and they seemed like a good idea. Shifting slightly and leaning back, he concentrated hard, giving the ship directions on where to go, because he knew where he had to be when the two of them got out of here.

A minute later he was done, and he stood up, swaying slightly but refusing to stop, because if he did, he would never start again. Swallowing hard, forcing the vomit back down, he half-jogged, half-stumbled out of the bridge, headed for the weapons chair.

He was barely half way there when a shudder running through the entire ship sent him sprawling forward, sliding a few extra feet.

Dammit, they were shooting at him already.

And he could hear his own engines powering up. But for them to not crash and burn and die a very horrible death, that roof right above the ship he was in needed to be gone. Or at least, semi-gone. And he was still a fair way from the only thing in the ship that controlled weapons powerful enough to do that.

With a great cry, his energy quickly disappearing altogether, Sheppard shoved himself to his feet, and stumbled on, keeping his feet as a second shot, hitting the front of the ship, he guessed, shook the very floor under him. Keeping a hand on the wall, to both guide and keep him on his toes, he managed to make it to the weapons platform just as the engines came online.

He slid smoothly into the seat, not even giving himself time enough to relax and enjoy the connection as he moved mentally closer to the ship he was freeing. The seat turned on, slid back, and he closed his eyes in concentration as he sent half a dozen drones into the air.

The entire building shook as the drones impacted, and he could hear dirt and beams and other things raining down on the shield. At the same time, the ship lifted, hovering in the air, though there was no way he should have been able to tell, inertial dampeners and all. But he ignored that, firing once more, and hoping he had enough drones to do what he had to do.

Hope aside, this time he shot at both the roof – another five drones – and the guns firing at him, because he didn't want to test out the ship's shields before someone had a chance to check them out.

One, two, three fiery explosions shook the ship, and Sheppard grinned as he felt the engines kick in, launching him into the sky. Because the way was clear, and he was nearly home free.

Nearly meaning he still had two or three Wraith-turned-hybrid Hive ships between him and hyperspace.

Squirming unconsciously in the seat, he locked those targets in his mind, and sent out a wave of drones, ignoring the shudders of his ship as the Hives fired in pre-emptive retaliation.

The drones cleared the path for him, and another explosion signalled the destruction of a Hive ship, and, grinning madly with victory, freedom and concussion, Sheppard disconnected his mind from the ship, and sat back to feel the pull of the entrance into hyperspace.

Dead silence filled his ears, and he nearly sagged in relief, ignoring the tears of exhaustion, pain and hope as he sat forward and opened his eyes. He gasped for air, the pain lingering behind the threshold he had developed to hide it while he escaped.

He just had one last thing he had to do before he could rest.

He staggered off the chair, and fell to his knees, retching and bringing up bile and stomach fluids. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had had a drink, or something to eat – probably too long – but he couldn't waste time. Not now. Not yet.

Finished with his heaving he managed to get to his feet, stumbling into the wall as he made for the corridor. Leaning heavily on it for support, he made his way to the auxiliary control room. It was closer than the bridge, and he didn't have long before that threshold crumbled.

The terminals greeted his eyes and he immediately dashed to one in the middle, practically falling on top of it in his efforts. Panting now, shaking from exhaustion, he stood up straight, or as straight as he could while his arms were holding him up, and turned the system on.

Fuelling his strength with pride and confidence would only give him a little time, but that was all he needed. So that was what he did. Frowning, jerking slightly, and pushing back dizziness, he tapped a few crystals and set up what could well be his last act for Atlantis.

Staring straight ahead at the screen, he cleared his throat and spoke, the military commander of the Atlantis from 50,000 years ago coming through clearly.

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of Ear-."

He cut off, looking away, as he suddenly remembered that pain. A stray tear escaped his eyes, and he squeezed them tight, feeling the loss of his friends and family once more. But he couldn't grieve. Not yet. Not now.

"This is Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis." He looked up proudly, a savage grin belying his exhaustion, and relaying reassuring arrogance. "And I have a message for the free people of the Pegasus Galaxy."

* * *

Come on, as if they'd _all_ be gone... Right?


	14. Chapter 14: Letters From Pegasus

**Chapter 14: Letters from Pegasus**

As he had watched the team disappear through the Stargate, Fairfield had been unable to stop the sudden pit from forming in his stomach. He had suddenly had the very bad feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong.

So when the team was overdue, he just knew. He knew he was never going to see them again, and he sighed, turning away from the balcony to silently grieve lost men and lost opportunities.

He wasn't the only one to be shocked when a day or so later, the Stargate suddenly activated, and half of the lost team stumbled through, exhausted and injured. Fairfield had been in his office when the alarm they had set up went off as the wormhole established, and as he raced through to the control room, he heard Goldman's voice over the radio, tired but calm.

"Lower the shield," Fairfield had ordered quickly, and a moment later there they were. Goldman, Collins and Tyler. Fairfield had heaved a sigh of relief and raced down the steps to greet them.

Collins was already being taken away on a stretcher, but Goldman and Tyler waited for Fairfield. And the story they told him, on the way to and in the infirmary, was one that was hard to believe.

The idea that the Atlanteans, the very people they had studied in order to find a way to defeat Michael and his hybrids… the idea that they had created Michael was hard to swallow. As Goldman had sat on a bed in the infirmary, and related what had happened, from their discovery, the crash, and their capture, right up to their escape, the announcement that Michael hadn't chosen to become a hybrid, that he had been changed by humans made the whole room go silent.

"What?"

Goldman had nodded. "Sheppard didn't deny it when we confronted him." He had looked away sadly. "We didn't get the whole story. Just that they captured Michael when he was a Wraith, and tried to make him human. Obviously they failed."

Fairfield had shaken his head, and had sat back to listen to the rest of what had happened. Goldman, leaning over on the bed, had rubbed his face tiredly.

"A while later, some hybrids came and took Sheppard away. He was with Michael for over an hour, but managed to get free. Or they let him, anyway."

"They let him get away?" Fairfield had asked, looking over at Tyler for conformation. The kid had nodded, before Goldman had continued.

"My guess is they wanted the address to Atlantis," Goldman had told them. "In any case, Sheppard got free and came for us. He got us out, and took us to the Stargate."

"Hang on," Kate Thomas had interrupted, uncrossing her arms. "How did he know where the gate was?"

"I think Michael took him on a tour or something. He also mentioned something about a Lantean warship that Michael had."

"A Lantean…" Fairfield had paled, sharing a look with his scientist. "But… Michael wouldn't be able to use it, would he?"

Both Goldman and Kate had shaken their heads. "Sheppard said the hybrids hadn't got past the gene thing yet. Though," he had added darkly. "Now that they still have Sheppard, that might change."

"He knew it was a trap," Tyler had added, looking saddened. "He knew they just wanted the address to Atlantis. But he came back for us anyway, made sure we got the Modules, and made sure we were all through the gate."

"He sent us to some other planet," Goldman had concluded. "So he must have known what Michael was after. But he didn't come through the gate after us. I heard a shot just before I crossed the event horizon. And then it closed down before he came through."

Kate had snorted. "Yeah, well, if he was one of the ones who made Michael what he is, then it's the least he deserves."

"No," both Goldman and Fairfield had answered, and Daniel looked strangely at his intel officer, surprised at the change of heart. Before they had left, Goldman had been nothing but suspicious of Sheppard. The man had shrugged at the glance.

"It wasn't his fault. My guess is he was following orders. And you said it yourself, Kate, he was here, waiting for something. Rodney McKay wanted him back for a reason. If he had been there, when Michael had been starting up, he would have done all he could have to fix the problem." Goldman had shaken his head. "But he was stuck here, instead. Where he could do nothing."

Kate hadn't answered for a moment. Then she had sighed, dropping her head. "Yeah, okay. He did seem pretty devastated that he couldn't get back to his own time."

Fairfield had leaned back, and crossed his arms. "It doesn't matter anyway. He's stuck with Michael. Which means we're screwed."

Kate had shaken her head. "No. We've got the systems he initialised. And Reese is working on gene therapy to induce the ATA gene that Sheppard has. We can still find something. We still have time."

* * *

Ten days later though, they still had nothing. The city was huge, too huge to cover in only a few days. And there was only a week or so left until the ships from Olympus showed up. There was no way they could search the entirety of Atlantis.

Finding something to fight off Michael and his hybrids was looking less and less likely.

Thinking that over and over in his head wasn't helping Fairfield much though. He had what seemed like a constant headache, and had had one for the past three days. Their searches were continually coming up negative, and even searching through what they could of the Lantean database was proving fruitless. He was on his way to what he was sure would be another useless find when his radio came to life.

"Daniel," Kate called, her voice excited. Or panicked, he wasn't sure which. "You're needed at the control room."

He gave a deep sigh, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Kate, you're making a habit of this. There's something else I need -."

"Yeah, well this is far more important, Daniel," she told him, interrupting. "Get your butt up here now."

He sighed and turned on his feet, wishing he could rest. It had been a while since he had slept, and now it was catching up to him.

Both Kate and Goldman were waiting in the control room overlooking the Stargate. They were leaning down over a computer, talking in hushed voices. He approached and cleared his throat.

Kate jumped, but Goldman just looked over his shoulder, nodding at his commander. "Fairfield, you really need to take a look," he said, looking back at the computer.

"What is it?" Fairfield asked, squeezing in to the side, so he could just see the screen. "And it better be bloody important."

He paused, and then heard the noises the computer was making, seeing the jumping lines on the colourful graph thing that Kate no doubt understood but he had no hope of comprehending. "What is that?" he asked.

Kate shrugged. "No idea. Something trying to come through communications, but we have no clue. It's on a loop, and has been coming through since yesterday, but something is wrong with subspace communications, so we're only getting repetitive static every five minutes instead of the message. I've got someone working on it now. But that's not what we wanted you to see."

She moved over to an Ancient terminal off to the side. "Sheppard told us this was long range scanners. It was one of the first systems he initiated."

"So we could see someone coming," Fairfield remembered. He looked closer, and frowned. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

Goldman came up behind him, arms crossed. "I can't do that. Not if you think it's a ship."

"Michael?" Fairfield half-asked, taking a deep breath. "Is it him?" He really, really hoped not. They weren't ready. Not by a long shot.

Goldman however was frowning. "No way to tell," he answered. "But it is bigger than the reports say Hive ships are. In fact, it's bigger than most ships. And it's alone. There's only one."

Fairfield licked his lips. "And I'm guessing its headed our way," he figured, looking between the two of them. "Otherwise you wouldn't have called me here."

Kate nodded. "You're right. It's on a direct course for us. And if it maintains speed, trajectory, etc, etc… it will be here this afternoon."

A million questions raced through Fairfield's mind, the main one being how they hadn't spotted the ship before. But he cleared his mind and turned to Goldman, the commander of the expedition coming out from under the worried leader.

"Ready everyone for attack," he ordered. "Rail guns on the balconies. Kate, get someone to check the Modules, make sure they're ready to handle the stress to the shield. In fact, do it yourself. Goldman, tell everyone the truth, but do it calmly, make sure they know exactly what the plan is."

The two of them looked at each other and then back at him. "I'm guessing the plan is to blow it out of the sky?" Goldman asked.

Fairfield shook his head. "Only if it fires at us first. The shields would be able to handle one or two hits, right Kate?"

She nodded, eyes set determinedly. "Absolutely. It could probably handle a lot more. One of the bonuses of having Modules." And she turned and began jogging for the power room.

Fairfield looked at Goldman. "Go," he ordered. "Make sure everyone knows not to fire unless we're fired upon." He gave a hopeful grin. "Maybe Pegasus isn't as deserted as we thought."

"And if it is Michael?" Goldman asked tightly. "Sheppard's… if he's still alive, he's been through hell for the last ten days. Who knows what Michael did to him. Maybe it's the Lantean warship, and Sheppard broke, and Michael knows it's enough to destroy us."

Fairfield shook his head. "It's one ship. And I don't think the Lanteans would make a ship capable of destroying their own city in one swoop. We will have time enough to destroy it."

* * *

Within a few hours, the ship was in orbit above them, and every man and woman in the Olympian Atlantis expedition was ready to fight for their lives. A dozen, much larger versions of the S-20s were aimed at space, all around the city, and almost everyone waited, watching the sky expectantly.

In the control room, Kate stood by the long range scanners, watching the ship as it inched closer with startling speed. She kept a radio link open with Fairfield, and then spoke up as she realized. Behind her the communications terminal, connected to the computer, crackled, and had she been concentrating, she might have heard the moment of coherent words.

"Daniel, you should be able to see it soon," she called, and a second later she heard various gasps of awe through the headset. "Well, I'm guessing you saw it." She wished she could, couldn't think of anything more incredible.

"Yeah," Fairfield answered vaguely, unable to take his eyes off the warship. "Kate… it's amazing. And… Kate, it's Lantean."

He heard her make a small noise of surprise, but ignored it. Maybe Goldman was right and Sheppard had broken. "Guns, take aim!" he called

The shield stretched above them, giving the red sky and the metallic grey ship a blue tinge. Fairfield watched it approach, and spoke to Kate again.

"Is it making any move to fire?" he asked, and there was a pause. Then the scientist answered, and she seemed surprised underneath the stress.

"No," she told him. "In fact… Daniel, I don't know these systems very well, and they're all basically in Ancient unless they're connected to a computer, but it really looks like the ship is coming in to land."

Goldman looked over at him, shock all over both their faces. "Sorry, Kate, did you say it's coming in to _land_?"

"Yes," she told them with a touch of exasperation. "It's losing speed, shutting down power… If I'm right." And she usually was. "Then it's about to land on the East Pier."

Taking that into consideration, Fairfield turned to Goldman. "Come on," he ordered, grabbing his S-20 the man from behind him. "Call up ten men to meet us both at the East Pier."

They took off at a run, Goldman doing as he had been ordered and calling ten men via the radio. The soldiers joined them when they were half way there.

"I was right, Daniel," Kate suddenly answered. "It's coming in to land. Either that or…" She broke off, and Fairfield slowed somewhat, consternation overtaking surprise.

"Or what, Kate?" he demanded, sharing a look with Goldman. But they didn't stop running altogether, continuing on their way to the pier.

"Or it knows it can't fire through our shields," she told him breathlessly. "But, as Lantean design, it should be able to fly right through them."

The breath caught in Fairfield's throat, and he nearly stumbled. Why hadn't he thought of that? Dammit, he should have evacuated everyone! "Guns, do not lose aim of that ship!" he ordered harshly. "Kate, if you even think it's firing up weapons, just yell out fire. Don't wait for my command."

He turned to Goldman, but didn't speak, and they began running as fast as they could, the feet of ten men pounding behind them.

They were nearly there when Kate told him exactly what he had been expecting. "Daniel, it's through the shield," she told him. And then she added something he hadn't expected. "And… it's powering down shields. It really is coming in to land."

The men just ran faster.

And then they were out in the open, and though the pier was long, they could see the ship. It was huge. Unable to help himself, Fairfield slowed to a walk, astounded by the sight, by the sheer beauty of the spacecraft. Behind him the men slowed as well, breaths taken by the vessel.

"Daniel, it's landed."

Fairfield nodded, trying to get his throat working as he took off at a jog once more, gun up now. "Yeah, Kate," he said dryly. "I can see that. We're on the pier."

"Then you'll be happy to know it's powered down," she answered. "But we're getting no communication from it. No message, no nothing. It's just sitting there now."

Daniel nodded. "Keep your aim steady," he ordered everyone else. "We still don't know what's happening."

Up close the ship was even more breath-taking. None of their ships were like this. Their ships were… clumsy, and small, and insignificant when compared to this work of art.

"Wow," Goldman whispered from beside him, looking up. "This is… just wow."

Fairfield nodded in agreement. "Come on. I think I saw an opening this way." And he took the lead, trying to ignore the sheer wall beside him as he moved to where he had seen the entrance.

He had seen correctly, and within moments they were aboard, nerves on edge. Their anxiety was made worse by the oppressive silence on the ship. The whole thing seemed empty.

"Split up," Fairfield ordered quietly. "Goldman, take the lower levels. I'll take the bridge, and the upper levels. Go."

The group split up, and Fairfield walked on, hoping he was going in the right direction. The ship was dark, the lights flickering sporadically, and he wondered why for a minute. Something to do with interfacing, maybe. It was doubtful whoever was in control of this ship had the Ancient gene. Sheppard had been the only person…

He almost stopped as a new thought crossed his mind, but he quickly shoved it aside. There was no way. Michael wouldn't have allowed it.

A few minutes later he was shown just how much he had underestimated John Sheppard.

He found the bridge easily, and walked in, a little put off by the silence and flickering lights. The effect was strangely eerie. And that was before he spotted the blood on the chair in front of him.

And then a voice boomed through the entire ship, and Fairfield couldn't help but jump. And then his jaw dropped as recognition filled him, and he turned to listen.

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of Ear-."

The voice broke off, going hard, and one of Fairfield's men called out to him. "Sir, over here," the soldier beckoned, and Daniel walked over, recognising Tyler instantly. The man had a stunned daze to him as he stared at a screen with a man on it.

It took Fairfield a moment to recognise Sheppard, head down and shaking as he was. There seemed to be blood everywhere, and when he looked up, his face was bruised, bleeding, and his eyes were dazed. But strong. The man oozed strength and power, and confidence.

"This is Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis," he greeted instead, and he stood up straight, a single tear running down his cheek. And then pride came over, and Fairfield felt himself responding to it, standing up straight like he would before his own leaders. "And I have a message for the free people of the Pegasus Galaxy."

Clearly exhausted, injured and sick, Sheppard managed to convey arrogance and authority. And he stood up straight, so proud you barely noticed the shaking.

"Some of you may have heard of me," he continued. "You may have heard stories of me, or my people, of the humans who came to the Pegasus Galaxy 50,000 years ago and reclaimed the city of the Ancestors."

Sheppard leaned forward and stared intently. None of them realized it was only so he wouldn't fall over. "Well, I am one of those humans. I am that John Sheppard. I am the John Sheppard that disappeared right when Michael was gaining his initial strength. And if I had been there…"

He looked away once more, and they all saw the grief. When he looked back, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "But I wasn't. I didn't run. I didn't hide. I was sent here. Now. By some freak accident of nature, I missed 48,000 years of history to end up here." A savagery entered his eyes. "And I plan to do what I couldn't do then. I plan to destroy Michael."

He shook his head. "But I can't do that without you. I know you're out there. I know you're hiding, trying to avoid detection like your people did with the Wraith 50,000 years ago. But I need you now. The city of the Ancestors needs you now."

He suddenly flinched, and paled further, slipping slightly. "Michael knows where Atlantis is. And he's going there. We can't stop that. But, with your help, maybe we can stop him there. With my help, your help, and Atlantis' help, maybe we can all, together, kill the hybrids."

He swallowed, looking sad and desperate all of a sudden. "Please. I need you. If you can, if you hear this message, if you have ships, or willing men, contact Atlantis. Let me know you are willing to save the Pegasus Galaxy. You know where we are, you know who we are. You know who I am." That pride shone even brighter. "We are the descendants of the Ancestors, and I will be damned before I let Michael destroy their only legacy that matters."

His face hardened, maybe from determination, maybe from sheer will to go on. "Please. If you get this… This galaxy has lived under the oppression of others for far too long." His chin rose stubbornly. "I plan to put an end to that. Who's going to help me?"

And then the screen went blank once more, and Fairfield took his first deep breath since the message had started. He shared a look with Tyler. "Wow," he whispered. That was a lot to take in. Starting with the fact that Sheppard had survived. Unbelievable.

He tapped his radio. "Goldman, did you hear that communication?"

The man responded instantly. "Yeah," he answered, his voice sounding strange. "Fairfield, I'm in auxiliary control." He paused, clearing his throat. "It was where the message originated."

"How do you know that?" Fairfield asked, moving out already, sensing that Goldman was about to tell him something important. The man didn't disappoint.

"Daniel…" And that got Fairfield really worried, because the man didn't call him by his first name. Ever. "Daniel, I found Sheppard. And he's not moving."

* * *

So... Reckon anyone will show up? Let's see a show of hands!


	15. Chapter 15: This Mortal Coil

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay. Real life tag-teamed with work to kick my ass. Anyways, the next chapter is here now, and I know you're all anxious, cause I wasn't real nice with the end of the last chapter... So, with a little more ado, here is my next little slice. Enjoy!

Oh, by the way, I'm no doctor, so just ignore anything that doesn't look right...

* * *

**Chapter 15: This Mortal Coil**

Fairfield skidded into auxiliary control to find Goldman kneeling by Sheppard, who was on his side, as unmoving as Goldman had said. The man's men stood around them both, glancing worriedly at each other. Goldman looked up as the rest of their team entered the room, and he looked relieved.

"He's alive," he told Fairfield instantly. "Just. He's a mess though. Webb's already on his way." He looked down at Sheppard as Fairfield knelt by them both and studied the scene.

A mess was an understatement. The pilot's breathing was shallow, laboured, almost unnoticeable. There was blood everywhere, though it had stopped seeping from the wound on his shoulder. But his rough woollen shirt was soaked, nearly dry, and the puddle around Sheppard was sticky. He didn't move, not even as Goldman touched his neck once more to check his pulse.

"I can't believe he's still alive," Goldman breathed, shaking his head. "He's one stubborn son of a bitch."

"Hopefully he stays that way," Fairfield muttered. "How long ago did you call Webb?"

"I'm here," the doctor suddenly called from behind them, and the two men turned to find an entourage following Webb. Goldman gaped as he moved away.

"I didn't call you that long ago," he said with shock. "How the hell did you get here so quick?"

Webb gave him a smug look. "If I told you all my secrets, Goldman, I would have to kill you." And then he looked down. "Oh, he's not looking good."

He knelt by Fairfield and reached out to check Sheppard's pulse. Obviously he didn't like what he found, because he shook his head and beckoned a young woman over. "Leena, help me role him over. And get that stretcher in here. We need to get him into surgery by the looks of it."

With Leena's help, they rolled Sheppard onto his back, and Fairfield flinched as the man just flopped. He was well and truly out of it. And apparently Webb was worried, because he glanced at Leena as she started taking blood pressure.

"Do it on the way," he ordered. "I want to get him into surgery as quickly as possible." He looked behind him. "Get that stretcher over here!"

Within minutes Sheppard had been lifted onto the stretcher, and they were moving from the ship. Fairfield hadn't forgotten his duties though, and he turned to Goldman. "Finish a sweep of the ship," he ordered. "Make sure we've got no unwanted visitors." He looked to where the stretcher was disappearing down the corridors. "I'll be in the infirmary."

* * *

A few hours later, Fairfield was still in the infirmary, waiting for Webb to emerge from surgery. He waited with some semblance of patience, but it was quickly wearing thin. He wanted to know if Sheppard was going to make it or not.

After two hours, Goldman and Kate joined him in silence, the former leaning against a wall while Kate sat down beside him. He shook his head at her questioning stare, and she leaned back to wait with him.

It was another three hours after that when they finally heard footsteps and looked up to find Webb coming towards them, stripping off bloody gloves. Fairfield and Kate stood, joining Goldman before the doctor.

Webb took off his robe before sighing. "He made it," he told them straight off. "I don't know how, but he made it. We almost lost him twice. He had lost a hell of a lot of blood, and he had a concussion, and a fever, so it was touch and go for a while."

"So he's going to be all right?" Goldman asked, shifting on his feet. Webb winced, and seemed to weigh up his answer before he spoke.

"I can't answer that for sure. You have to understand… he was a mess. He was unconscious on that ship for maybe two days. Which means he was with Michael for nine." He held up a hand and began counting off injuries. "He had a severe concussion, which had been recently aggravated. He had been shot in the right shoulder, and that was infected. Which led to a fever, which I would say he has had for at least a week. Fractured ribs, bruised lungs, from the jumper crash I would guess. Add to that blood loss, a sprained wrist, severe dehydration. I don't think he's eaten in a few days, at least. And to top it all off, it looks like Michael was giving him some kind of drug to keep him alive, but one that didn't actually fix anything." He shrugged. "I'm just shocked he even made it this far. Then again, his sheer stubbornness should bode well for his recovery."

Fairfield shook his head, and he was joined by Kate. Webb nodded in acknowledgement. "I know. But we're keeping a close eye on him, and we've got him on a drip and feeding tube. We've got him in an induced coma, but he's breathing on his own, which is always a good sign." He gave a tired smile. "I don't want to get your hopes up, but… he should pull through. Should."

Fairfield nodded. "Thanks, Webb. You did good. Let me know if anything changes." He looked at Goldman and Kate. "We need to talk about the message he's sending out."

They began the walk back to the control room. "So, that transmission our communications have been picking up…"

Kate nodded. "Someone finally fixed it. It was Sheppard's message. It's been playing on a loop, broadcasting all over the galaxy."

"And…" He couldn't believe he was about to ask this. Everyone knew Pegasus had been devastated. "Has anyone responded? Has anyone called in to say they'll help?"

Kate shook her head slowly. "No. Not yet, in any case. I mean, surely Sheppard had a good reason for broadcasting a message to people he thought are out there."

Goldman shook his head. "You heard Webb," he reminded them. "And you saw his head wound, Fairfield. Who knows what he was thinking, or how." His face darkened. "But we need to talk about Michael. According to Sheppard, he's on his way."

Kate flinched as they came out into the Gate room and moved up the stairs. "But like you said, who knows what he was thinking."

"I know, but… I think that's one part we should take very seriously. Besides I doubt Sheppard could have held out for nine whole days against who knows what. And even if Michael didn't know where this city was before Sheppard took off, he probably does now." Goldman shook his head as they moved into Fairfield's office and took seats. "How did Sheppard escape? What if Michael let him go?"

"What, after nine days?" Fairfield asked. He shook his own head. "I don't think so. But I wouldn't put him past tagging the ship." He sighed. "We'll get ready. The shields should be enough to hold him back until our ships get here. And we can hope Sheppard wakes soon enough to give us a straight answer."

* * *

Waking this time was most definitely a lot more fun. Sheppard wasn't sure where he was, and for a moment considered the possibility that he was actually dead. And he wasn't even frightened when the thought that it was about time followed the notion.

But he felt alive. He was lying on a soft bed, and he was warm. He couldn't feel any pain, but it was the foggy, drugged up feeling that suggested he was still breathing. That he was heavily medicated, not dead. Which only meant one thing.

He was back in Atlantis.

His eyes popped open of their own accord, and he looked around, recognising the infirmary. A surge of déjà vu rolled over him, and he closed his eyes again. For the first time – EVER – he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be in Atlantis. He couldn't take, couldn't handle the memories…

Everyone was dead. Earth was gone. He had failed his friends, had wasted McKay's life… Everything he knew was nothing, and now that he could think about it he didn't think he could take it.

"Sheppard?"

A voice interrupted the downward spiral of guilt, and Sheppard's eyes snapped open to look up at Webb. The doctor seemed taken aback by something, and Sheppard guessed it was the glare painted on his face.

"How are you feeling?" Webb asked gently, cautiously, a frown forming. Sheppard didn't answer, just turned away, suddenly uncaring. Uncaring of everything. He had escaped Michael, but he hadn't lied to the ex-Wraith. He had nothing to come back to. And he had refused to admit it until now, so focused on escaping had he been.

"Sheppard?"

When he didn't answer, Webb turned away, obviously worried. Sheppard didn't care. They had lied to him. And what was worse, was the fact that he was supposed to be the one who fixed it all.

* * *

When Webb called, his voice panicked and worried, and told him to get down to the infirmary, Fairfield thought Sheppard had suddenly up and died on them. So he was a little shocked to walk in and find the man not only not dead, but awake, eyes open and just as surly as the last time Fairfield had walked into the infirmary to see how the man was doing.

Webb appeared out of his office, and beckoned him to the other side of the room, around a corner where no one – aka, Sheppard – could see them. Fairfield glanced at Sheppard, saw the dead look in his eyes, and got an inkling as to why Webb was so worried.

"What is it?" Fairfield demanded, glancing at Sheppard once more before he moved around the corner. "No, wait, let me guess."

Webb smiled grimly. "If you're guessing Sheppard… I radioed Goldman while you were on the way up here. He told Sheppard about Earth."

Understanding flooded Fairfield, and he groaned. "Oh, no. No wonder he's… You know. So he's been like this since he woke?"

Webb shook his head. "I heard him wake up, and went over. And I thought he was going to bloody murder me. He looked so…"

Fairfield gave a knowing chuckle. "He can be scary, can't he." Then he lost all humour and sighed. "So now he's just…?"

"Vacant," Webb informed him. "The lights are on, but nobody's home. I mean, he's getting better, physically. He went for a long time without treatment, so I don't think he'll ever be a hundred percent. I think he'll always have headaches. And I doubt he'll regain full use of his shoulder. But that's not going to matter if he doesn't get with it." The doctor shook his head. "I went over there before, and he didn't say a thing. Didn't move, didn't budge."

Fairfield sighed. "I'll try talking to him," he told the doctor. "It worked last time."

Webb grimaced. "Last time it was just his friends that he failed," the doctor told him, lowering his voice. Fairfield began to protest, but Webb spoke over him. "No, that was how he saw it. That's how he sees it. Only now, it's his friends, his family, and his entire people. I think if you antagonise him like you tried last time… he'll kill you."

Fairfield grinned at him. "Well, it's a good thing there'll be a doctor around then." He shrugged. "Someone's got to do it. We still need him. And we need him whole."

Webb sighed but nodded, and they both moved back around the corner into the infirmary proper. And then stopped, taken by surprise.

Sheppard's bed was empty.

"Now where the hell has he got to?" Fairfield asked, as Webb dashed forward to check the covers, even though it was obvious the man was gone. And then he looked around, arms spread wide.

"I don't know," Webb said, confused and worried. "But he took my datapad and radio."

* * *

Still in his infirmary scrubs, Sheppard paced the halls of Atlantis, finally accepting the sense of her in the face of his own personal mission.

The datapad was tucked under his arm, some cords wrapped around his fist, the radio in his ear. He avoided everyone, ducking down another corridor every time he heard footsteps. He knew Atlantis like the back of his hand, so it wasn't hard to still make it down to the laboratories quickly.

He was five steps inside one of them before he recognised it, and had to pause, grief hardening his heart and bringing a lump to his throat. Because it was so hard being in this lab.

McKay's lab.

He closed the door behind him, and then locked it, before moving on towards the Ancient terminal. He put the datapad down and unwrapped the cords, before pulling on the memory of every time he had watched McKay do this. Hoping he was doing it right he plugged the cords in and turned the datapad on.

It was very similar to the computers of his own time, and he had little trouble accessing the information stored on it. He quickly searched through it for the files he wanted, the files he hoped were on there.

Figuring that an expedition to Atlantis would want to know everything on past expeditions to the great city, he searched for a file, connecting to the main computers in the control room. This tiny datapad couldn't hold that much information, that much he knew.

But he had learned what he could from McKay, and he wasn't an idiot. He had a good memory. And… he had Atlantis on his side.

He sat down on a stool as he found the file. The rather excessive file. His eyebrows rose as he had a quick glance through it. It was huge. Everything he wanted.

Everything he feared.

Suddenly his radio crackled, and he paused, listening to the conversation.

"Sir," someone called, and Sheppard knew they were talking to Fairfield. "Someone's connecting externally to the main system."

Fairfield swore. "What are they downloading, Banks?" he asked, and Sheppard waited, sure it was his efforts. Sure enough…

"Looks like the history of Atlantis and Earth, sir. It's coming from one of the labs. And its someone who knows what they're doing."

Sheppard ignored them and went back to the top to begin. Then he paused again as Fairfield responded.

"It's Sheppard, Banks," he told the technician. "Just leave him be." There was a pause. "I'm assuming you can hear this, Sheppard."

The man was sneaky, Sheppard had to give him that. Nevertheless, he ignored the man, and Fairfield sighed over the radio.

"We hid it from you for a reason, Sheppard," the latest commander told him. "We didn't think you were ready. We still don't."

"Bullshit!" Sheppard spat before he could help himself. "You wanted me on side so I could help you. Nothing more, nothing less, Fairfield." He felt his knuckles crack. "Just leave me alone."

He tore the radio off, chucking it onto the bench, and turned his attention once more back to the screen. The words filled his eyes and he became engrossed in the history that felt like it had happened only yesterday.


	16. Chapter 16: The Long Goodbye

**Chapter 16: The Long Goodbye**

He skimmed through the start, information on the Ancients that he already knew, and found it to be less than he himself knew. Obviously a lot of information had been lost in Earth's destruction.

After that there was more information that he already knew, a lot that he had actually lived, and it surprised him slightly to see how things had changed over retellings. But he skipped over that too, needing to get to the bit that he didn't know, before Fairfield decided it was safer to leave him in the dark concerning his own history.

And then he found it. Lorne's report of when he had gone missing. The simple trip to supposedly find one of the Genii who supposedly had information on Teyla. And how Lorne had come through several hours later to find Atlantis in a fit because their military commander had somehow disappeared.

Breath catching, Sheppard slowed his reading, swallowing as he continued on. On, through the report on finding Teyla. On how they had found her, dumped by Michael because she was no longer of any use to him. Used and left for dead, disregarded as an incubator only, and not the great, noble woman who had meant the world to him!

Hands tightening around the datapad, he focused for a moment on a single line, a note left at the end of the report, words that felt like a stab in the gut because he was supposed to have changed it.

Teyla Emmagan. Killed in Action. 2008

He took a deep shuddering breath and read on, moving to Rodney's report at the realization that Sheppard himself wasn't missing, or dead. That he was in fact gone, where he could be of no use. Involuntarily abandoning Atlantis, Earth and his friends to their fate.

Another stab to the gut and he read on, those fateful words in another report attached to McKay's findings, that terrible line that had sealed the fate of two galaxies, maybe a third.

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Killed in Action, 2008

To a report from the leader of Ronon's strike force, cold and tense even in words alone. As the man or woman relayed how the great Satedan had stayed behind to ensure the success of the mission, both Sheppard and the writer mourned. Sheppard even more so because he knew, in his heart, that Ronon had stayed behind to ensure not just the success of the mission, but also the safety of his team.

And he had lost another friend, because he hadn't been there. His chest heaved as he suddenly remembered to breath, and he looked at the line attached to the end of the report.

Ronon Dex. Killed in Action. 2008

And he read on. And on. Reports that he recognised from the quick lesson McKay's hologram had given him. Reports that he could picture happening in his head. Little notes, of people gone, disappeared, of planets wiped out, of allies devastated… And every now and then, more and more as the reports became more and more recent…

Colonel Samantha Carter. Killed in Action. 2009

Doctor Jennifer Keller. Dead, 2009.

Doctor Radek Zelenka. Killed in Action, 2010.

He read on and on, unable to help the tears filling his eyes as the years went by and he still recognised the odd name here and there, just not as many as before, because so many people he had known, and respected, and _loved _goddammit, they were dead, and it was bitter relief when those names weren't names that meant anything.

That was, until he reached the reports from thirty years after his disappearance. Read the notes and words from when Michael had finally found his way to the Milky Way, and had begun systematically destroying the planets protected by Earth. Had begun ruining the lives of billions of people, of killing and converting and doing more damage than the Goa'uld, Wraith and Ori put together. One report even dared to utter the hopeless but ultimately true words.

_No one can stop him now._

And even more deaths, and killings and people that he now only knew, or recognised, not just faces that he could still picture as easily as he had 50,000 years ago. Memories written down, stories now, and Sheppard read through them, feeling himself breaking as he once again, or maybe actually truly for the first time realized…

Everyone he knew was dead.

He could see the words over and over, the reality finally sinking in, the full blow hitting him heard, possibly made even worse by the fact that he was sitting in McKay's office as if he were just waiting for the smug scientist.

Colonel Cameron Mitchell, who had apparently been transferred to Atlantis as Michael's army ate away at the Pegasus Galaxy. Killed in Action, 2019.

Richard Woolsey, infected by the Hoffan virus by a returning soldier. One man dead among the thirty-seven that died in the first outbreak in the Milky Way. 2024.

Brigadier General Steven Caldwell. And the entire crew of the Daedaluls. Killed in Action. 2027.

So many people, so many names, and he couldn't stop reading them, couldn't help but tear at his heart, his mind, his very soul, because he just had to know. He just had to know what he wasn't able to stop.

And then came the worst one. The first report of Michael's activities in the Milky Way. A Jaffa planet, slaughtered. A peaceful farming community. Slaughtered. An advancing society, who had survived Goa'uld enslavement, Replicator destruction and Ori persuasion. Slaughtered. Slaughtered, slaughtered, slaughtered…

And then… more deaths, more people that he knew, that he had been unable to save. That he should have saved.

Major General Evan Lorne. Killed in the Siege of Earth. 2038.

Doctor Rodney McKay. Killed in the Siege of Earth. 2038…

Suddenly screaming, unable to read anymore, Sheppard stood up, tore the cords from the Ancient terminal, and threw the datapad as hard as he could against the door. It hit with a sharp crack, and shattered, sparks flying as it landed in a mess on the ground.

Mad, at himself, at Earth, at McKay, at life in general and at nothing at all, he turned and picked up the stool, bringing it slamming down onto the workbench behind him. The legs crumpled slightly, the table dented, and he screamed again, tears coming now as he finally began releasing the immense anger that had been welling up since Goldman had told him about Earth.

He spun around in a full circle before letting the chair go to smash into the sidewall, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. But he wasn't about to, couldn't stop there. He screamed again, at himself this time, picked up a second stool and brought it crashing down on the Ancient terminal.

Sparks flew from it, and he turned, looking for something else to destroy. He needed to destroy something, anything, but couldn't find anything suitable. Probably because he didn't have a mirror, and he hated himself at that very moment. Millions, billions of lives, lost, because he and his fucking meddling people had decided they knew what was best. Because he had followed orders and caught Michael, and had tried to make him in their image.

He screamed again, tears blinding him as he slammed the stool into something else, something completely and utterly unremarkable except that it was there, and it was solid, and he could hit it and destroy it and ravage this entire fucking lab for everything it represented.

Failure.

Loss.

Grief.

Weakness.

Inability.

Failure.

Failure, failure, failure! He hadn't made it back, and he slammed the stool into some Ancient instruments lining the bench at the wall to make his point, the tools falling to the floor in a heap. He barely even heard them fall though, as he screamed again, the pain too much, too heavy, too huge and significant and hurting. And it was pain he couldn't ignore, not anymore. It was too big, and it had been too long.

Still screaming, he threw the second stool far across the room to land and then roll off the Ancient terminal, and then Sheppard leaned over, his stomach hurting, his heart hurting, his head hurting. Everything hurt, and he just couldn't take it anymore.

He crumbled. Once again, he crumbled, just letting it all fall away as his legs doubled and he fell to the cold hard ground littered with Ancient instruments. He stopped screaming, as the tears turned into sobs, as he tried to remember everyone before he had known they were dead. Before he had seen the words over and over again.

Killed in Action. Killed in Action. Missing in Action. Killed in Action. Dead. Killed in action… Killed… dead, missing, killed, killed, dead…

They were all dead and now he was all alone. And it just wasn't fair.

* * *

Fairfield made his way through the crowd surrounding the lab door, and turned to face them all, scowling, cursing human curiosity.

"Get back to your jobs," he snapped. "John Sheppard just lost everything he knows. He doesn't need you lot crowding around him and reminding him of it."

They all turned and walked away with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Fairfield watched them, before turning to Goldman, who had remained behind, excusing himself from the leader's verbal lashing.

"Make sure no one disturbs us," Fairfield ordered, before looking at the door. "Has he made anymore noise?"

Goldman shook his head. "No. It died down about five minutes ago. But these walls are relatively soundproof. Who knows what he's doing." He gave a weak grin. "Good luck. He sounded pretty violent. You're probably the only one able to take him down."

Fairfield gave a small snort. "Have you seen him when he's angry. Looks like the man just disappears, leaving some kind of killing machine."

Goldman nodded, not amused at all. "I saw what he was capable of when he got us out." He paused and then swiped the door. "I don't say good luck lightly, Fairfield."

The doors opened and Goldman stepped to the side, shrugging. "They were locked earlier. This has to be a good sign."

Fairfield didn't answer, just walked into the dark room, flinching slightly as the doors closed once more. He didn't say what he was thinking. That Sheppard had run out of walls, tables and other things to smash, and he just needed something else to destroy.

He avoided swallowing and walked forward slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He paused at the first dented bench, and looked around.

He quickly found Sheppard, and quickly thought that maybe they should have waited a little longer. The man looked perfectly miserable.

He was sitting, leaning against the back workbench, knees pulled close to his chest, head back against the cold surface, eyes open and red and staring at something no one else could see. He didn't even blink as Fairfield moved to stand over him.

Giving a sigh, Fairfield took a step, twisted and planted himself next to Sheppard. He waited for a moment, wondering if the man was going to say anything, but he only blinked and looked straight ahead, before dropping his head onto his knees.

Fairfield shifted. "Five years ago, we came across this old book. Old, as in, from 50,000 years ago, give or take. It was written by this man named Daniel Jackson."

That seemed to get a response. Sheppard looked up, and stared at him, his eyes devoid of life. Fairfield noticed, but didn't mention it.

"It chronicled Earth's use of the Stargate. How a team known as SG1 fought and defeated the Goa'uld. The Replicators. The Ori. Among other numerous threats. How they found out about the Ancients. The Gate Builders. We had heard of these Ancients from other texts, but for the first time we read of how… useless and redundant they had become as a race."

Fairfield looked around. "And then we read of their city. Atlantis. A great space ship hidden away somewhere in another galaxy, on another planet, abandoned and lost for the very same reasons Earth had been lost. And we knew. We knew if anywhere there was something capable of defeating Michael, it was here, in this city, in this galaxy, where Michael first appeared."

The man smiled, and looked over at Sheppard, who had looked away, and was still staring blankly. "For the first time we had hope. We had a plan. A plan that didn't involve holding on by the edge of our fingertips. We had somewhere to go, history to explore, a city that could possibly be the answer.

"We selected the team. I volunteered to lead it. Each and every one of us knew it would be dangerous. We knew we might never get back to Olympus. Back to our friends, and families. But we did it anyway. Just like Jackson said the people from the original mission did."

Sheppard shifted on his seat, and a stray tear fell down the well-worn tracks on his cheeks. Fairfield didn't mention it, just continued.

"After years of research and training, we dialled this address. We sent through a probe. And the rest… you know. Most of it. I bet you don't understand though. Understand how we found what we were looking for. How we found something beyond our imaginations. How we found real hope for the first time, hope that was not based on fairy tales and an old book. We found you!"

"I don't care," Sheppard muttered. "And you shouldn't. It's all gone."

Fairfield sighed and leaned his head back against the bench. "I know you've heard of the stories. But I doubt you realize how prevalent they are. The stories of Atlantis, of the Stargate… that's nearly all we know. There's little else that's told among the camps and settlements." He swallowed uncomfortably. "Your friends… are like heroes to us. Mythical warriors who tried to stave off evil and, yes, ultimately failed, but we respect them anyway. Their sacrifices offer us reason, and… hope, and a willingness to do anything we can, anything we have to, to ensure humanity survives."

"You shouldn't have to," Sheppard suddenly muttered, letting his legs slide straight. "I should have gotten back, and found Teyla, and stopped Michael, and then everything would be all right."

To that Fairfield snorted. "You don't know that," he told Sheppard. "It's been fifty thousand years, Sheppard. Who knows what could have changed, even if you had gone back. Maybe we would have found another threat to drive us out of Earth and into Olympus. Besides, it's not like it was your fault."

"It still feels like it," Sheppard snapped, staring at him. He opened his mouth to speak again, to lay the blame squarely on his shoulders when Fairfield cut him off.

"Well, you're an idiot then. You were not responsible for the solar flare that brought you here. You were not responsible for the failure of systems that led to you being in stasis for longer than you should have. It's not your fault there was nothing you could do."

"McKay spent his whole life trying to get me back. I should have gotten back. His whole life is a waste."

Fairfield shook his head. "Not yet, it isn't." He shifted and turned to face Sheppard. "Look, in that transmission you sent out, you said Michael's on his way here. That he'll be here soon."

Remembrance dawned on Sheppard's face, and he nodded. "Yeah, he… he knew where we are. I couldn't believe it. I mean…"

He broke off and looked away, thinking. Fairfield took the opportunity to continue. "Okay, so maybe your own time is lost," the leader told him gently. Sheppard didn't seem to hear. "But McKay's life isn't a waste yet. You can still help us. You can still help your people."

Sheppard looked at him, and Fairfield had the feeling the man hadn't heard a word he had said. "Where's Goldman?" he demanded breathlessly.

Fairfield frowned. "He's just outside. Why?"

Sheppard shook his head and stood, all there all of a sudden. "No reason," he answered coyly, and Fairfield's frown deepened. "Hey, do me a favour, and get Webb down here. I think I popped a few stitches."

Not seeing any blood, Fairfield nevertheless did as he was asked. "Sheppard, what's -."

He never saw it coming. One minute Sheppard was looking anxious and expectant, the next all Fairfield saw was black.

* * *

And here I was thinking Fairfield would talk some sense into him. Not so much, maybe...


	17. Chapter 17: The Intruder

**Author's Note:** Sorry about not posting last night, I was in the city until late, having fun and seeing Batman again. You should all go see it, it's bloody fantastic, the acting is brilliant, it's dark and tragic... it's great!

Oh, and it has been a while, so in case you all forgot, the last chapter ended with Sheppard punching Fairfield's lights out...

* * *

**Chapter 17: The Intruder**

Thinking fast, Sheppard stepped over the now unconscious Fairfield, shaking his fist and searched the man for a weapon. He had already noticed that the leader didn't carry a gun of any kind, but Sheppard was rewarded with a switchblade. Which he quickly tested, pleased. It would have to do.

Because Michael knew where Atlantis was. And he hadn't when he let Goldman, Tyler and Collins escape. Otherwise he wouldn't have let them escape in the first place.

Which meant he had found out while John had been a prisoner. And he knew he hadn't talked. And he knew the other three hadn't talked. And Sheppard had made sure he didn't dial the right address to send the men home.

Which left only one option. And he remembered the crash. And he remembered Goldman's injuries when he had woken up. He had had an injured shoulder.

Only he hadn't injured it in the crash.

Hiding the blade in a fist, he moved to the door and opened it. Goldman appeared as the doors slipped open, and looked a bit surprised to see Sheppard there, alone. His mouth opened to say something… and then he spotted Fairfield unconscious on the ground.

"What the hell?" he spat, moving back, hand going for his radio. Well, Sheppard couldn't have that.

"Sorry," he apologised in advance, before leaping forward with a fast, hard punch. It would have knocked Goldman unconscious if it had connected. But the man just managed to block, so Sheppard followed it up with an uppercut.

The fist drove Goldman's head back, but he still didn't fall unconscious, just staggered back a few steps. Determined not to do this while the man was aware, Sheppard kept on coming, kicking out hard and planting his bare foot in Goldman's stomach.

He doubled over, winded, and Sheppard danced forward, grabbing the back of his shirt and aiming a knee for his forehead.

Recovering quickly, Goldman stood up straighter, and rushed forward, grabbing Sheppard around the waist and pushing him hard into the wall behind him. Sheppard grunted, and let go, nimbly dropping to the ground as Goldman did the same. The man backed up, holding his stomach still, while Sheppard took a deep breath. Fighting probably wasn't the best thing to do in his condition, but no one would believe him, he was sure of it. He needed Goldman unconscious so he could cut the transmitter out of his shoulder.

He saw Goldman going for his radio again, and rushed the man, kicking from a distance and hitting the man's ribs. Even with bare feet the slap was palpable, and Goldman winced visibly, bending slightly to the side. Sheppard followed it up with a fist, knocking it hard into Goldman's cheek. The cheek split, and Sheppard rushed another kick.

Goldman managed to block it again, and came in for his own punch, really getting on the offensive now. But Sheppard was tiring, and he had to end this fight quickly.

He stepped in as the fist swung, and caught the arm above the elbow, pulling it close to his body, tucked under his arm. Then he stepped forward, one foot behind Goldman's, grabbed the man's shirt, and pushed him down.

Hard.

Goldman's head knocked loudly against the floor, and the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he slipped into unconsciousness. Sheppard kept a hold of him, just in case he was bluffing, but a few still minutes later decided Goldman really was unconscious.

As if right on cue, a pair of rushing footsteps skidded to a halt nearby and Sheppard pulled Goldman's gun from its holster to aim at an alone Webb.

The doctor put his hands up, his eyes hard. "I'm guessing that's set to kill," he figured in an uneasy voice. Sheppard scowled. Nope, not much trust.

"I don't want to kill anyone," Sheppard told him. "But you wouldn't believe me if I tried reasoning."

"I wonder why that is," Webb snapped before he could help himself, and Sheppard smirked in annoyance.

"Give me your scanner," he ordered, not wanting to get into this. He checked quickly that Goldman was still unconscious. "And some local anaesthetic if you've got it on you."

Webb paused momentarily but sighed and began pulling things from his pockets. "You planning on some surgery then, Sheppard?"

"Something like that. Come on, while he's still unconscious." He snapped his fingers and then grabbed the needle and the handheld device the doctor had been trying to get to work despite not having the gene. Good thing he had ignored Sheppard's advice to not bother.

"Thanks." And he dropped the gun, keeping it within easy reach. "How much of this to numb his shoulder?" he asked, looking up.

"Why?" Webb demanded, not moving, though his eyes flickered towards the discarded gun. Sheppard smirked again.

"Trust me, I'm a lot faster," he warned, though to be honest, he wasn't really sure about that. It was all about appearances. "And I need to find the transmitter Michael implanted in his shoulder. I don't exactly want him feeling that."

Webb crossed his arm, setting his face stubbornly. "I'm not letting you know. You have no clue what you're doing. Besides… I think you're fishing. In denial."

Sheppard glowered, knowing what he was getting at. He turned away and decided to guess. "I didn't tell Michael where Atlantis was," he snapped as he tore back Goldman's shirt and pulled the arm straight. "He only wanted me to help with that ship I flew here. He didn't even hurt me that badly."

He injected the anaesthetic, only half of what was in the needle, trying to remember all the times he had had the drug used on him. It seemed about the same amount.

Tossing the needle aside, he grabbed the scanner, saving a moment to give Webb a warning glance. His gene activated the device and he started going over Goldman's shoulder.

A moment later there was a beep, and Sheppard gave a small cry of triumph. Webb uncrossed his arms and took a small step forward, surprised. "You actually found something?"

Sheppard ignored him, needing to finish this himself. He snapped Fairfield's blade open, again ignoring Webb as he made a small groan of protest. And then he cut in.

Blood immediately began seeping, but Sheppard remembered enough of the human anatomy from training on the most effective place to shoot, and had the scanner positioned where he could see what he needed to see. One knee kept Goldman's arm steady, the other was planted on his chest as he dug in, searching for Michael's implant.

More footsteps could be heard, and he had to force himself not to rush and risk cutting into an anything major. The transmitter was on the edge of his shoulder but Webb had been partially right. He was an amateur.

"Don't come any closer!" Sheppard yelled as men surrounded him, guns aimed. "I swear if you make me jump, I'm going to cut an artery or something."

He didn't think the soldiers would have listened if Webb hadn't placed his hands out and motioned for them to stay put. The guns remained up, but they didn't come any closer, for which Sheppard as grateful. He almost had it.

With a small grunt, he felt the knife hit metal, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled the knife out, tossed it aside, and then went back in with his fingers.

Thankfully it wasn't deep, but he couldn't help but squirm with the blood over his fingers. And then it was there, just below his reach. He dug a little deeper, thankful that Goldman was unconscious, and then grabbed onto the transmitter with his fingertips.

He pulled it out as gently as he could before tossing it away. It skidded slightly on the floor, rolling towards Webb, but Sheppard ignored it, plugging the wound with his fingers once more. It was messy, but he had done it.

He looked up at Webb, a little exhausted. "Got a field bandage on you or something? My finger can't stay in here forever."

Webb moved closer, eyeing him carefully. "Here, I'll take over." He knelt by the two of them, checking Goldman's pulse carefully. At Sheppard's questioning glance, he shrugged. "A bit rapid, but he's alive."

The doctor pulled a gauze pad from his pocket and Sheppard removed his fingers so the doctor could swoop in and finish the job. Sheppard stood and backed away, but was quickly forced back to the ground when two soldiers grabbed his arms and pushed him back to his knees. He felt the cuffs, but didn't fight back, not caring. When a scientist realized what that transmitter was, they would let him out of wherever they dragged him.

"Someone call Fairfield," Webb suddenly ordered, and Sheppard cleared his throat from where he was laying on the floor, facedown.

"Um, he's in there. Probably still unconscious," he told them, motioning with his head at the lab behind them. Webb glanced at him as one of the soldiers opened the door and jumped into the lab. And then the doctor looked up at the soldiers holding him down.

"Let him up, Fallon," he said. "He's not going anywhere. And Fairfield needs to hear everything."

A moment later the soldier led out a groggy looking leader, who glanced at Goldman on the floor, Webb leaning over him, and then at Sheppard, a frown on his face.

"Don't tell me that was you," Fairfield pleaded straight away, holding a hand to the back of his head. "Please, tell me you didn't hit me."

Sheppard shrugged, his hands still bound behind his back, and he decided a look of apology would be suitable. He looked as sorry as he was able under the conditions.

"I had forgotten about Michael knowing where Atlantis was," Sheppard began, shrugging slightly out of the hold the two men had him in. "And he knew it almost a week before I escaped. I know I didn't tell him, and I knew your men hadn't been there long enough to tell. So unless you had a spy in your midst, it left only one option."

He glanced down at Goldman, and actually felt sorry. "I had a friend, Ronon Dex. You've probably heard of him." At Fairfield's nod, he continued. "He was what was called a Runner. Someone the Wraith didn't feed on, but instead implanted with a tracking device so they could be hunted down." He nodded at the transmitter that was still on the floor. "It was something like that. Have one of your scientists scan it. It was in his shoulder. I remembered he had the injury when we woke after the crash, but I was also awake for a second or two _instantly _after the crash. And Goldman hadn't injured his shoulder."

Fairfield looked at him and then moved onto Webb. "How is he?" the leader asked, and the doctor looked up at him, before moving back to Goldman.

"He's fine. He'll have a sore shoulder for a while, but he'll survive," he added dryly. "I've already called a stretcher. I just need to sew him back up." He looked around and caught sight of Sheppard, who was looking pale and tired. Webb frowned. "He should be taken back to the infirmary as well."

Fairfield nodded. "Let him go, Fallon," he ordered. "And escort him back to the infirmary." He glanced at the transmitter. "And someone take that down to Kate Thomas. Have her check it out."

Sheppard rubbed his wrists once they were free, and started moving off when a new set of running feet caught his attention and curiosity, and he paused to see what the fuss was.

Fairfield turned to greet the sprinting man, who was barely even breathing hard as he came to a stop before his commander and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

Whatever it was, it was both important and surprising, judging by Fairfield's jaw drop, and Sheppard shrugged off Fallon's insistent hands to find out what it was. A good thing too, because a moment later Fairfield turned to the colonel.

"You need to come with me, Sheppard. Webb, get Goldman up on his feet asap." And Fairfield turned and began walking away as fast as he could.

Sheppard rushed to catch up, thinking he probably should have been heading in the opposite direction if his shaking was any indication. Then again, he never had been the type to do as he should.

"What is it?" he asked, glancing at the soldier who was disappearing down the corridor. "What's happened?" Was it something he had done?

Fairfield glanced at him and then raised his eyebrows. "Well, hopefully when we get back to the control room, you'll be able to tell us."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Fairfield. What's going on?" He met the gaze of two scientists who stared at him as they walked past. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Fairfield looked at him again, not very amused, as they finally came into the control room, moving quickly. Sheppard gaped to see the Stargate on, the blue event horizon shimmering behind the shield.

But that wasn't where Fairfield was headed. "It seems you were right," he finally answered as they moved to a computer. Sheppard frowned at him.

"About what?" he asked slowly, realizing it really was something he had done. Fairfield grinned at him, and for the first time Sheppard saw the hope in his eyes. The fire. The fight. "What's happened?"

"The message you sent out via your ship," Fairfield said, nodding at the technician behind the computer. The man turned back to his screen and hit a few buttons. "It looks like you were right. There are some people out there."

And then the sweetest sound Sheppard believed he had heard, at least since coming to the future came from the computer's speakers. A woman's voice, her accent familiar even after 50,000 years, the sound sweet to his ears even as his heart clenched with grief.

"This is Chayal Tanaga of Natosh, calling the City of the Ancestors. Atlantis, are you there?"

Sheppard glanced at Fairfield, feeling the same fire erupt in his gut. The sense that maybe, just maybe… they could do this. They could defeat Michael.

Fairfield nodded, and Sheppard leaned down to tap the same key he had always tapped to talk via the radio. He glanced at Fairfield again, unable to help the spreading grin.

"Chayal, this is Colonel Sheppard. Atlantis hears you." He gave a small laugh. "We hear you."

* * *

Yay!

People. We like people!

Oh, and again, I'm no doctor. I'm not even a nurse, and usually I'm too lazy to do more research than what I need for school. Which isn't medicine. All mistakes are mine, so just ignore them.


	18. Chapter 18: Allies

**Chapter 18: Allies**

Sheppard turned his head to see Fairfield run up to stand beside him, crossing his arms as he came to a halt. He looked nervous. Grinning, Sheppard turned back to watch the inactive Stargate.

It had been two hours since Chayal had contacted them through the Stargate, and they were expecting her and her people any time now. Sheppard was sure they were descendents of the Athosians, and he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he had been right. Couldn't believe there really were people still out there.

"Nervous?" Fairfield asked, looking sideways at him. Sheppard glanced at the man, and then looked him up and down, taking in the jittery bounce he would make sporadically.

"Sure," he answered, looking back around to the Stargate with raised eyebrows. Fairfield noticed the tone and frowned at him. Then he too, looked at the Gate.

"So how did you know?" the leader asked without looking away from the Gate. He uncrossed his arms and put them on his hips. "How did you know there were people still in this galaxy?"

Sheppard shrugged uncomfortably. He hadn't mentioned hallucinations to anyone, and he wasn't about to. "Intuition." He shifted on his feet. "The people of this galaxy lived under the oppression of the Wraith for thousands of years. Then there were the Replicators. They managed to survive that by laying low, by moving around, by being smart." He gave a grin. "The hybrids were never going to be any different."

"Well, that was good instincts," Fairfield told him. "We might actually have a chance now. Especially with the Lantean ship."

"How is that coming?" Sheppard asked, curious. "Reverse engineering from the ship should be easier than doing it on Atlantis. And your scientists seem pretty intelligent."

Fairfield chuckled. "Pretty intelligent, yeah. They've got some computers hooked up to the ship's database, and with your help they should eventually get full access to most of the ship's systems."

Sheppard nodded. "So I guess you've realized there are a few systems that you will probably always need the gene for?"

Fairfield didn't answer for a moment, jumping as the Stargate activated and a woman up in the control room called out that it was the people of Natosh. As the shield was lowered, Fairfield turned to Sheppard.

"We're a resourceful people," the leader told him, as they both stepped forward to greet whoever came through the Stargate. "The Natoshians aren't the only ones to survive under oppression. But maybe if we all stop hiding, and start fighting together, we can stop it for good."

They stopped fifteen feet from the event horizon, just as a woman came through, tall and willowy and elegant. Her dark hair was dead straight, and reaching to her waist, and her bright blue eyes danced ferociously in her dark face.

She was followed immediately by two men, both only inches taller than her, and quite obviously warriors. They both carried crossed short swords on their backs, and guns slung in low holsters.

Studying them quickly as they paused five feet from the two waiting men, Sheppard softened his stance and gaze. Not even looking at Fairfield, he stepped forward, and hoped their greeting remained the same.

"I'm Colonel Sheppard," he told them with a smile, gently touching the woman's shoulders and lowering his head. She seemed surprised for a moment, but quickly did the same, touching his forehead with her own. Then she backed away and smiled up at him.

"I am Chayal," she greeted, and then nodded at the two men. "This is Owin and Benji, my brothers."

Sheppard nodded at them, and then motioned Fairfield forward. "This is Atlantis' current leader. Daniel Fairfield."

He nodded at them, and then frowned. "I assume more of your people are following." He gave a weary smile. "You didn't trust us."

Chayal looked up at Sheppard, and he frowned at her glance. "We had heard of you, Colonel Sheppard. There are many stories. But we did not know your voice. You could have been anyone. We were not prepared to risk our people on the off chance that the Descendents truly had returned."

Sheppard gaped at her words. "Descendents?" he asked weakly. Please, God no. "Please don't use that word." He didn't need his own name for his people. But Chayal was nodding, grinning, and she turned to one of her brothers.

"But we see you are truly who you said you are in your message," she told him as the man pulled a radio from his pocket and turned away to speak through it. "And now our infantry can come through the Stargate."

Men and women began crossing the threshold, and Sheppard smiled at it as they were directed to the side of the platform. Fairfield was beside himself with glee.

"This is… Chayal, this is amazing," the leader sputtered, watching the people come through, armed and dangerous. The woman smiled at him, but Sheppard had another question.

"Chayal, how did you know we were who we said we were?" he asked, looking her straight in the eye. She had the same kind of inner strength as Teyla. He wondered if he would able to deal with this.

"We have our history, Colonel," she answered, smiling up at him with wonder. "Our archives from that time are quite extensive. And they include pictures. It is quite amazing to see you have barely aged over such a long time." At Sheppard's groan, she turned to Fairfield. "And this is not all we have to offer, Fairfield."

All thoughts of 50,000 year old pictures fled Sheppard's mind as both he and Fairfield demanded, "What?"

She grinned. "I thought you would appreciate that. No, this is just our ground force. We have much more to offer."

"You have ships," Sheppard breathed. "You have ships, don't you?"

Chayal nodded. "We do. In fact, according to the archives, it was your people who taught us how to build them. According to the texts, when they learned they were being recalled, that they had to abandon Atlantis, the last leaders of that time gave my ancestors all the knowledge they would need to build ships, and weapons to defend themselves. I am also told they were punished quite severely for it," she added with a twinge of sorrow. But Sheppard shook his head, grinning.

"Trust me, they wouldn't have minded," he told her. "If they were here, in Atlantis, they wouldn't have minded." He wondered who it had been. And if he had known their family. Their parents, or grandparents.

She smiled, but continued. "It took us time to figure it out, but we did. And from there we have only evolved our technology. Our ships should be here within two days."

Fairfield and Sheppard exchanged an excited look. "How many?" the colonel asked, unable to believe this. Things really were beginning to look up.

"We have five on the way," she told him. "Complete with Earth-based technology like beaming, cloaking and energy weapons. But we couldn't bring them all. We couldn't leave out planet unprotected."

Sheppard avoided telling her that those systems actually belonged to the Asgard. Because… "Wow, five," he breathed, sharing another look with Fairfield. "Five is… great."

Chayal nodded. "And we have something else to offer you, Colonel Sheppard. If others did not receive your message." He glanced sideways at her and she smiled. "The people of the Pegasus Galaxy have remained in contact with each other, Colonel. And they should come if we call them."

* * *

Sheppard felt… calmer, being back on the Lantean warship. He could feel it almost purring all around him, courtesy of his freaky little gene, just like he was used to feeling in Atlantis. But lately the city felt more like a grumble than a purr, and it kept him on edge.

The ship, on the other hand, was raring to go. If they could just interface the Olympian computers with the Ancient systems. And Sheppard knew from experience that this wouldn't be hard. If a bunch of space nomads could do it, these scientists could as well.

"How are you going?" Sheppard asked as he came up behind the head scientist, Kate, as she worked alone in the bridge. She jumped, unaware of his approach, and spun to glare at him.

"Don't do that!" she cried, picking up her datapad from where she had dropped it on the console she had been working on. "Can't you make noise or something?"

"Sorry," he grinned. "It's not in my training. So, how are you going?"

She shrugged and pulled up the computer that was hooked into the Ancient system. "Not bad. We're going to need you to initialise some things, but this ship is being a whole lot less hard than the city."

He nodded, expecting that. The city was old. Stubborn. The more time he spent wandering her corridors the more he got the sense that she too just wanted to rest. "So, has it got a name?"

She shrugged slowly. "It has some name in Ancient that is really hard to pronounce. But…" She paused, looking up at him. "But you found it. You rescued it from Michael." She looked down at the computer and chuckled. "And everything's working better since you stepped onboard. I think you should name it. Got anything in mind."

He pursed his lips, thinking about that. Thinking about the last Lantean ships he had been in. The Aurora. The Orion. He had named the latter. Well, it had been better than Hippolotamus or whatever it was it had been called.

But the Orion had been nothing compared to this ship. This ship was bigger, and better. It deserved a good name. A suitable name. He smiled as he thought of one.

"Helios," he told her, and at her frown he began to explain. "Helios was the Ancient Greek god who drove the Sun across the sky in his chariot. One day he let his son drive. Only the kid lost control of the chariot, and the sun came too close to the ground, setting everything on fire. Because of Helios' good intentions in trusting his son, the world was ravaged. His own son, his own creation, destroyed the world."

Kate looked up at him, eyes far too soft and knowing. "Is that how you feel?" she asked, and he looked away, coughing.

"It's just a story. A myth," he told her, looking intently down at the computer. "So, what do you need me to do?"

She didn't answer for a moment, and then nodded at the captain's chair. "Hop in and start turning things on. Let's get this ship going."

Sheppard grinned and sat down, relaxing in the chair and easily turning the ship on, firing up the power, and initiating several diagnostics to keep the power going. He sat forward to find Kate looking at him, that same knowing look in her eye as before.

"You know, back home, you're a myth too. And I read, in several texts, that before you came here, your people perceived Atlantis as a myth."

John scowled. "What's your point?" he demanded, leaning back in the chair and looking away.

She smiled. "Sometimes myth has far more meaning and truth to it than we dare let on. Now, I just want to check life support before you decide to take off flying into space anywhere."

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time they finished working on the ship for the day. Sheppard dawdled behind Kate and her team, not really feeling like returning to the city just yet. Instead he moved around the outskirts of Atlantis until he came to a secluded pier, tucked away from the rest of the world.

Or so he thought.

Twenty minutes after he had sat down, legs crossed, hands fiddling with McKay's crystal, leaning back against the tower rising high into the sky above him, he heard footsteps. Night had already fallen, but the light of the shield, still somehow holding back the radiation, illuminated Atlantis somewhat, and he was able to make out the distinct female form as she approached.

He hid the crystal in his hand and turned back to the view, once a rolling sea, now a rolling sea of sand, waiting for Chayal to approach. She picked her way delicately down the short pier and came to sit beside him.

"I am not disturbing you, I hope," she said after a minute of silence, though she did not look at him, instead letting her gaze be drawn up to the apex of the shield.

"No," he answered, though in truth she had. That need for solitude had become incessant, because with every waking moment it was becoming harder to not expect someone he knew to come around a corner.

"I was exploring the city," Chayal told him, sparing him an awed look in her study of the sky and city. "It really is magnificent."

Sheppard smiled knowingly. "You should have seen her in her prime," he replied. "When she was young, and fresh. She was… well, it was beyond words."

Chayal frowned slightly. "It is hard to believe this city was even more wondrous. What is different now?" She seemed genuinely confused.

The colonel shrugged. "Nothing. I mean, architecturally, nothing. All her systems work, and she… well, she works. But in my time, Atlantis lived for it. Now she struggles. She's tired."

"But she is just a city," Chayal reminded him, and Sheppard ducked his head to hide his sad smile. The woman seemed to notice anyway, and frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. No, I'm serious, nothing." He smiled at her. "You just keep on reminding me how much time has passed."

"And that is not a good thing?" she asked. "I can understand why you would be uncomfortable now, but is so much different from your own time? Is it so bad being here?"

John took a deep breath, unable to believe he was about to one hundred percent honest with this woman he barely knew. He knew why though. How could he not be so honest, when she reminded him so much of Teyla.

"You have no idea," he told her, catching her eye. "It's not just names, and places, and people. This city was a great monument to a race so evolved they shed a physical form. And still she stands, holding back time, but aging rapidly deep inside where no one notices anymore. Well, no one but me. No one has the gene to bring her back to her glory. Except me. This sun is dying, and God knows how many others are dead and gone since I saw them last. My own time is a myth." _I don't belong here._

He didn't say it out loud, but Chayal seemed to get the picture, and dropped her head as if embarrassed that she had even brought it up. But she went on bravely, looking back up at him as he looked away.

"You miss it, don't you."

"So much it hurts," Sheppard whispered. "And not just my friends, or my planet. But the feeling that if she had legs, Atlantis would be dancing. I miss the sound of the ocean breaking against the piers. The smell of the sea. The feel of the wind, and rain, and sea drops. I miss knowing every single person in this city. I miss my life, and you have no idea how much I regret the fact that I won't be able to live it out."

She frowned up at him, confused once more. "But surely Fairfield will let you return to their galaxy with them? After all, you both originally come from the same place."

He laughed without humour. "No. It's been 50,000 years. We don't come from the same place. Maybe his ancestors came from Earth a long, long time ago, but he comes from an altogether different galaxy." He sighed, remembering something McKay's hologram had said to him. "I am the last survivor of my entire galaxy. The Olympians have lived there so long now that that's their home." He turned to her, and saw her pity. Well he couldn't have that. He grinned. "But yeah. I'm sure he'd let me go back with them."

The only question was whether he wanted to go back or not.

* * *

Aw, poor Sheppard, all depressed... He needs some cheering up!


	19. Chapter 19: Misbegotten

**Chapter 19: Misbegotten **

Michael appeared on Atlantis' long range sensors the next night.

Sheppard was in the conference room with Fairfield and a still sore Goldman – to whom he apologised profusely for cutting into his now bound shoulder – discussing tactics with Chayal when a technician called them across to the control room.

"We picked something up, sir," the woman said in response to Fairfield's question as she led them across to the scanners. "We can only assume…"

She stepped aside as they reached the system, and Sheppard wasn't the only to inhale sharply at what they saw. In fact Fairfield said something that he didn't understand, but from Goldman's slight eye widen and then hard, agreeing nod, it was some kind of new swearword.

"That has to be Michael," Fairfield said for them all. He stared at the screen with something akin to horror. "And… this is not good."

"That is a hell of a lot of ships," Goldman agreed, shaking his head. "And they're closing in fast. How long before they get here?"

The technician winced. "Not long. Maybe two or three days. Four, tops." She shook her head. "Not long." And she looked back at the screen without hope.

Sheppard shook his head and pointed to a second set of dots on the screen, the five dots closer to Atlantis. "Look, we know Chayal's ships should be here tomorrow at the latest. Fairfield, how long before your ships show up?"

The leader shook his head. "Maybe three or four days after Michael's, if they didn't run into any trouble on the way here." He shrugged. "We should be able to contact them the day before Michael gets here though. Until then, we can make do."

Sheppard nodded. "That's what I was thinking. Look, Michael should jump out of hyperspace around here," he told them, pointing to the area just off the sphere that represented their planet. "Human parts notwithstanding, he still uses Wraith tactics. He'll drop out of hyperspace, let us know he's coming just to scare the pants off us. He knows, or figures, that he's got us outgunned and outmanned."

"Ah, he'd be right," Goldman informed him, glancing at Chayal. "Look, not that we're incredibly grateful for your help, but that's the full force of Michael's army that's in Pegasus. That's fifty odd ships. We've got six, unless any of your contacts make it back by then."

"True," Sheppard agreed. "But if we play it smart, we might be able to do this. If we ambush him with _our_ full force as they drop out of hyperspace, we might be able to take out a few before they even know we're there."

"Which would still leave fifty minus a few Hive ships for us to deal with," Goldman snapped. "Not much help, really."

"If you let me finish," Sheppard snapped back, relishing in the whole not being a member of military for the moment. He never got to snap nearly enough. "Look, the Helios is pretty much up and running. The shield is unlike anything I have ever seen. It not only has the weapons platform chair, it has extra weapons, which, by the time Michael gets here, should be able to be used by someone without the gene. Me in the chair, plus Chayal's ships… we'll be able to thin them out."

"And then what?" Fairfield asked. "It's still unbeatable odds. We'd never be able to take that many out."

"I know," Sheppard told him. "We do what we can and then retreat back to Atlantis. This shield should be able to hold them off for however long we need it to." He hoped. "Especially with three full, working ZPMs. We restocked the chair here with drones, so we can still fire on them. Look, we just need to hold out long enough for some more ships to arrive from Olympus."

Fairfield shifted on his feet, and Sheppard sighed, knowing what he was thinking. "No," he told the man gently. "No, we can't run again. It won't save your people. Look, Michael's just going to follow. Even if we destroyed Atlantis and escaped through the Stargate back to wherever you came from… Michael would get there eventually. Be it in a year, ten years or ten thousand… he's been around this long. He won't stop until he has you defeated."

He took a step back and raised his voice, wanting everyone to know his conviction. "This has to end," he told them. "We need to make a stand. And if we can do it here, where it all started… all the better. Like I said in that message I broadcasted, this galaxy has lived under oppression for too long. I am not disappearing again."

His face hardened, and he leaned in, speaking directly to Fairfield. "Look, if I can't get home, then at least I can do this. I can help you. I can help you make a stand. I can help humanity be free or die trying. I couldn't save my galaxy, but maybe I can save this one, and maybe I can save yours. And then, maybe, all those lives lost 50,000 years ago won't have been a waste because we didn't lie down and let Michael crush us here and now."

There was silence for a moment. Then Fairfield nodded, with Goldman joining in a moment later. "You're right," the leader told him. "We need to do this. And we need to do this here." He looked at Goldman. "Come on. We need to talk tactics."

Sheppard and Chayal followed, with the woman sending the pilot a thankful glance. He smiled as they moved back to the conference room.

"What Sheppard was saying sounds like a good plan," Goldman said as they all took a seat. "Surprise will give us an advantage. And our ships are smaller. More manoeuvrable. If we keep on moving, keep on firing, as much as we can for as long as we can… even with just Chayal's ships, we should be able to hold on until our ships get here."

"How many more ships do you have?" Sheppard asked suddenly, looking around. "I mean, back in your galaxy, how many more ships do you have? And would your people spare them to battle Michael?"

Fairfield and Goldman exchanged a look. "Honestly? I don't know," the leader answered after a moment. "But we can try. Actually, we should have tried earlier. They won't be here in time for the battle, though."

Sheppard shook his head, rocking the chair slightly. "That doesn't matter. We can cut down the number of ships, then retreat back to Atlantis when it gets too bad. After that, we can wait for your ships, or, if we have to, retreat through the Stargate to somewhere else."

Chayal sat up, but Sheppard put his hand up to stop her speaking before she could start. "I don't mean necessarily back to the Olympus Galaxy. But even back to your home planet, or somewhere else in this galaxy. And from now on, we make Michael's life a living hell."

Fairfield shifted in his seat. "We can discuss that if the time comes," he told them, and he obviously had doubts that he would be able to conduct a war in Pegasus. "But for now, we should talk about at we're going to do once Michael gets here."

"Ambush sounds good," Goldman told him. "It would be good to have Michael on the defensive for once. Six ships could take out at least six before he even knows we're there. Hell, that Lantean ship could probably take out another two or three."

Sheppard leaned forward, thinking fast. "I say we have the Helios waiting in orbit as they come out of hyperspace," he told them. "They'll be expecting it. I don't doubt that Michael saw my message that I sent out. I couldn't be selective in who got it, not when I wanted everyone to get it. But I doubt he thinks there are people out there."

"So you want one ship to hold out?" Goldman asked, frowning and obviously a little worried. "It's not going to manage."

"I know. But it will be okay for five minutes. Just while Chayal's ships come out of hiding from behind the nearest moon and attack from behind. Once half the ships are out of hyperspace, they attack, and wipe some out before they even know my broadcast worked."

Chayal nodded. "I think that is a good idea," she began. "They will not be expecting us. We have hidden from Michael well in past generations."

Sheppard nodded, and Fairfield joined him a moment later. "That actually sounds like a plan," he said, swinging slightly in his chair before standing up. "Chayal, do you want to contact your people and tell them to stop behind the moon. I don't doubt that Michael would be able to sense them waiting near Atlantis when he gets close enough."

She nodded and stood, and the two of them left the room. A second later Goldman went to leave as, wincing as he moved his shoulder. Sheppard winced with him.

"I am sorry, about that," he told the man again. "But I don't think you would have believed me if I had said you had a transmitter in your shoulder. Not after I was with Michael for so long."

Goldman shrugged his shoulder slightly, and then shook his head. "I told you before, Sheppard, don't worry about it. I probably would have done the same thing." He shifted slightly on his feet, and looked down. "Actually, I should be the one that's sorry. I led Michael here. If your plan doesn't work, or if Michael's found some way by the shields, or anything like that… the fall of this city will be my fault."

"You couldn't have known," Sheppard told him, still in his seat. "You wouldn't have remembered the crash, not with hitting your head. So you wouldn't have remembered not injuring your shoulder."

"Yeah, well…" Goldman trailed off and shook his head. "I guess it doesn't matter. It's pretty late. I'm going to bed."

Sheppard nodded and watched him go, leaving the pilot alone in the conference room. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. "I guess it doesn't matter."

He swung around and stood up, walking away, nodding at the technicians on night duty, including the woman who was still glancing worriedly at the computer screen on which Michael's armada had appeared.

He didn't feel tired like Goldman did. Webb had checked him out the night before, after Sheppard had talked to Chayal on the pier. The doctor had been worried, considering the colonel had managed to avoid a check up after his fight with Goldman. After that Webb had given him some sleeping pills and ordered him to take a break. Apparently he still wasn't recovered enough from his time in Michael's hands.

But it meant he had slept most of the day away, and now that night was here, he felt restless and uneasy. The corridors were empty, and it was times like this that he felt the city's tiredness like a keening that struck his very heart.

He let his feet take him where they wanted, and he wasn't surprised when they began to the walk to the room that had been used as a gym by his people. It was disused and closed now, located in a section of the city that was ignored by the current expedition.

He was, however, surprised when he walked right past the doors, feeling no urge to go inside and clear his head like he had used to 50,000 years ago.

He continued wandering, sometimes passing the same intersection twice, or walking up the same corridor, the isolation of the aging night somewhat distracting. The few people he did pass nodded at him, but obviously had elsewhere to be, somewhere more important. The city was preparing for a siege after all.

Eventually his feet led him to a less abandoned part of the city. Less because it housed Atlantis' most powerful weapon and control.

The chair room was empty at this time of night, for which Sheppard was grateful. Unsure why he was doing what he was doing, he still slid into the chair, relishing the feel as he connected with the city. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, just like getting Atlantis' systems on line had been difficult to begin with. But he managed to dive into the city's mainframe, and immersed himself in the workings of his home.

The chair, back in his time, had been used primarily for the defence of the city, used to control the drones now restocked somewhere in the bowels of Atlantis. It wasn't a surprise to him, therefore, that that particular system came to him first, ready for any present attack.

He ignored the call of it, and similarly ignored the touch of the stardrive on his mind, needing to go deeper, to access more systems than those two. It worked, though he hadn't been sure it would – he never had listened to McKay and Zelenka when they discussed the potential uses of this chair. He really should have started listening to them.

It was too late now, and he grimaced over that for a moment before losing himself once again in Atlantis.

He wasn't sure how long he was like that, going through Atlantis with a fine-tooth comb, seeing if there was anything he could do about her reticence from here. Though far from sentient, like the Helios, Sheppard had always known the city had… moods and tendencies more technologically advanced and probably far simpler, technologically, at the same time, than those belonging to human characteristics.

But the city was fighting a losing battle against the elements, and it seemed to realize that. And after so long, alone, with just that battle against the dying sun, it was like it could see no point in continuing the struggle, not even against a new foe.

Sheppard sighed, feeling disheartened as he made to disconnect from the system. A fleeting thought from the city caught his attention though, and he slipped back in, shifting subconsciously in the chair. He followed the stray thought, the flashing light that existed only within Atlantis' systems. He frowned as he concentrated, trying to determine what the problem was exactly.

A moment later he saw, and he felt his stomach clench, his heart giving a violent thump at the fright.

A moment after that he was up and out of the chair, running through the hallways as if his very life depended on it. Which it did.

He ran as hard and as fast as he was physically capable, probably harder and faster even. It still seemed too slow as he raced through the corridors of Atlantis to the control room, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't too late to warn everyone.

He almost lost his footing as he came into the control room, and the stumbling attracted the attention of everyone. They all looked up, glancing worried looks at each other as he ran to the consol before the long range scanners and rearranged the crystals in the terminal.

A second later the screen beeped, and instead of the two sets of dots that had been on the radar, there were now three. A horrified gasp ran through the control room.

Sheppard found no time for that, not even as his stomach sank as he was proven right. Instead he touched the radio in his ear and called for the expedition leader.

"Fairfield, get your ass out of bed right now," he called, looking around at the stunned expedition members. "We've got a problem."

A second later, Fairfield's confused voice came over the radio, and it was obvious he had just woken from sleep. "Wah? Sheppard… wha's the problem?"

Sheppard shrugged, looking at the long rang scanners. "A dozen cloaked Wraith cruisers are about twenty minutes from entering visual range of Atlantis."


	20. Chapter 20: Reunion

**Author's Note:** Hi. Um, you aren't going to be happy with me. No, it's nothing bad. Well, sort of. But um... well, I won't be posting for the next two nights...

There's really good reasons for it. Well, I think they're really good. Tomorrow my friend is hosting a cocktail party, and I'm headed there straight from work. And on Saturday I'm going to the footy, which will be awesome fun, but I'm headed home, and then straight out again... so no time for computer at all.

Sorry!

* * *

**Chapter 20: Reunion**

Fairfield appeared five minutes later, bleary eyed and still pulling his jumper over his head. Goldman was just behind him, showing no traces of sleep despite the fact that Sheppard had just realized he had spent several hours in the control chair.

"What's going on?" the leader asked, rubbing his eyes as he approached an antsy Sheppard as he stood by the long range scanner. He stared at the screen, his eyes going wider as he dropped his hand and realized what was going on. "Those dots weren't there when I went to sleep."

"No, they weren't," Sheppard acknowledged. "They didn't show up until I tweaked the controls so it could sense cloaked ships."

"Cloaked?" Goldman demanded. "Since when does Michael have cloaking technology for Hive ships?" he asked, looking at the colonel.

Sheppard shook his head. "I didn't see any sign of it when I was his prisoner. At least, not on ships this big," he told them. "And I think he would have shown me when he thought I thought I couldn't escape. He's arrogant like that."

"It doesn't matter who it is," Fairfield told them both. "They were cloaked, and they haven't identified themselves. We have to assume they're hostile."

Sheppard nodded in agreement. "You need to get your men on weapons. And…" He trailed off, looking at Fairfield. "And I think it's time we give the Helios a test run."

Goldman's jaw dropped. "Are you nuts?" he asked, sputtering. "That's a dozen ships! As in, twelve. It will be _outnumbered_ twelve to one."

"The Helios will have the same system as Atlantis. They're still cloaked. They won't know we know they're there," Sheppard told them. "If we take it slow -."

Fairfield cut him off with a headshake. "No. I'm sorry, Sheppard, but no. That ship may be our greatest advantage. I'm not letting it go out until it needs to."

Sheppard nodded tightly, not about to argue, even though it practically felt like the ship was his. He had been the one to get it after all. But he didn't say anything. "Fine. What are you going to do?"

Fairfield was already talking on the radio, ordering men to their posts at the rail guns still on the balconies. "We'll try and open up a line with them," he answered Sheppard's question as he turned back to the current conversation. "And if they don't answer, then we'll blow them out of the sky. I think you should get back in the chair, Sheppard."

It was an order, and the pilot knew it. Jaw tightening, he still didn't say anything, just nodded and took it, knowing it was the smart thing to do. He just wasn't used to taking orders from anyone else except Colonel Carter. Even Colonel Caldwell had – mostly – deferred to him when it came to matters such as the protection and other military aspects of Atlantis. Eventually, anyways.

He sprinted to the chair, realizing they had now wasted half of the original time since he had noticed the ships. With ten minutes to go, they were running short. Who would it be? He had thought the Wraith would have starved to death a long, long time ago, but was it possible he was wrong? Or was he wrong about Michael, once again underestimating the ex-Wraith? Who was bearing down on them?

He kept his radio on as he slid into the chair, needing to be kept the loop, even though the constant chatter was slightly distracting and now, more than ever, he needed to concentrate to connect with the city. But he needed to know if Fairfield managed to speak with the beings on the inbound ships.

Then again, he shouldn't have underestimated Atlantis.

Thinking about that, as well as the need to power up weapons, as he slid into the chair and connected with the city, John jumped as Fairfield's attempts to communicate with the Wraith cruisers echoed in his mind, coming once from his radio and then again from the city's communications themselves.

Shrugging, Sheppard removed his ear piece and settled back down to listen to the city as she spoke about him, eavesdropping on Fairfield's attempts at connecting with the cruisers.

"Unidentified space craft," he called out on all frequencies, and Sheppard knew it when the message connected with the ships. He shifted slightly, readying his mind, and thus Atlantis, to fire as Fairfield continued. "You have been seen. Tell us who you are or we'll blow you out of the sky."

Sheppard felt like he could almost pick up the chatter on board the cruisers, if he strained, his body unconsciously leaning out of the char slightly, and up to the sky as if a few more inches would matter.

After a moment though, the… he was sure now that they were people, which surprised him, but who? Whoever they were, they did not respond, though Sheppard was sure they had received the message. He licked his lips and watched intently for any sign that the incoming ships were about to fire.

Fairfield tried again. "This is Atlantis," he called over the system. "And we have spotted you. Decloak now or face destruction."

Again, only silence met his request, and he sighed, the sound audible to Sheppard. And then the man addressed the pilot.

"Sheppard. Get ready to fire."

The colonel shifted in his seat once again and wrapped his mind in that system, before thinking about the purely human sense the city was feeling from the approaching masters of the cruisers.

"Fairfield, let me try," he called over the city wide PA. He had the feeling both Fairfield and Goldman jumped at it, before getting a hold of themselves.

"Okay, Sheppard," the leader allowed. "See what you can do about them. I'd rather not have to blow them out of the sky and then find out they're really allies."

Feeling the same, Sheppard tapped into the communications system, unsure if this would actually work. Sure, he had used the chair to fire drones, and to fly the city, and McKay and Zelenka had actually agreed that the platform could be used to do even more, but despite the consensus of Atlantis' two most brilliant minds, the theory had, to Sheppard's knowledge, remained untested. He could only hope this worked as he prepared to communicate with the approaching vessels.

"Unidentified space craft," he called, feeling like he was a part of the actual communication system, unaware that he still spoke the words at the same time. "This is Colonel John Sheppard, of Atlantis. Slow your approach now and identify yourselves."

There was a curious buzz aboard the ships, the pilot could almost feel it. His voice seemed to have got a response, and a second later, a verbal one was communicated back.

"We will not slow our approach," the voice retorted. "And we know you cannot be John Sheppard. We know he died 50,000 years ago."

"Didn't you get my message?" John demanded, losing all formality in the face of annoyance. "I didn't die. A solar flare sent me 48,000 years into the future." Give or take a few years.

"Can you prove it?"

John growled. "Who the hell is this? And what do you want me to prove? You already know we're not hybrids, or we would have shot you down as soon as we knew you were not."

"If you had the power to," came back the quick reply, and, getting frustrated, John broadened his mind to once again assume control over weapons.

"You want to see our power?" he demanded. "Well, I'll show you the power of Atlantis. Surely you've heard of these…"

He trailed off, slouching comfortably in the seat, fingers moving slightly over the gel-like pad beneath his hands. On his command, a single drone shot high into the air, slipping past the city shield to explode barely a hundred feet from the lead ship.

He heard the distress cries and shock via the communication, and allowed barely a moment's breath for what had happened to sink in before he was at them again.

"That's the kind of power I have at my fingertips." Literally. "Decloak now and identify yourself. Or the next shot will not miss."

There was a moment silence again. And then… "Is this really John Sheppard?" the voice demanded, a hint of belief in the worried tone.

"It really is," he told them. "Now courtesy dictates you tell me who you are," he reminded them. "I do not want to have to ask again."

A moment later Fairfield spoke to him via the city communication system. "They decloaked, Sheppard," he told the pilot. "Your whole threatening thing works like a charm."

Sheppard didn't answer, as he was still waiting for a reply from the cruisers. A moment later he heard the man he had been talking with sigh and accept the truth. "My name is Commander Damora," he greeted. "And I would be honoured if my people could once again work alongside Atlantis."

Sheppard nodded and let go of the weapons system, though he still had more questions. He couldn't place the man's ethnicity. "And to which people do you belong, Commander?" he asked, curious. Especially seeing as the man claimed to be one of Atlantis' allies. Perhaps from after he had disappeared?

Unlikely.

Damora cleared his throat and paused for a moment. Then, "You would perhaps know us, Sheppard, as the Genii."

* * *

"Of course they are," Sheppard muttered as he got up out of the chair, storming from the room, not at all impressed by the sudden and strange turn of events. The fact that not one, but _two_ of the peoples he had had contact with, 50,000 years ago, were still alive and kicking – probably more kicking in the Genii's case – was surprising, considering what he knew of Earth history. Granted Earth history had only lasted several thousand years.

These Pegasus folk were a lot hardier than he had thought. And he had thought them hardy enough to begin with.

"Damn Genii," he muttered to himself again as he made his way back to the control room at a more sedate pace than he had left it. "Of course they stole Wraith cruisers and took them as their own. What else didn't they steal?"

He ignored several worried looks from several passing soldiers, who were still rushing to get orders around, just in case someone's radio had malfunctioned. He didn't care if they thought he was crazy. Because one of his least favourite peoples was still around to undoubtedly cause him hassles.

"I mean, they stole our C4," he continued with himself. "Our people. Tried to steal our jumpers. Why not a few Wraith cruisers, just to put the icing on the cake."

He took the stairs three at a time up into the control room, ignoring yet more worried looks, this time from Fairfield and Goldman. The latter then smirked and decided to open his mouth.

"I take it you know these people?"

John glared at him. "You could say that. Had a few… run-ins with a few of their people. A small strike force tried to take over Atlantis once. One of their guys has tried to kill me three times. Or is it four?" He crossed his arms. "I know you've heard of the Wraith. Well, one of _their_ guys had one feed on me, not once, not twice, but… wait for it… it fed on me four times." He held up a hand and fingers for emphasis, and then leaned back.

Goldman and Fairfield exchanged a look before looking at him. "Wait a minute? That story's true?"

Sheppard nodded. "I know. Wouldn't believe it to look at me. But the Wraith was nice enough to give me my life back, after I helped it escape. Hell, a year later we even became allies."

Goldman shook his head as Fairfield looked away. "You are the weirdest man, Sheppard," the intel officer muttered, before looking at the computer. "But that was 50,000 years ago. I'm sure your issues are behind you."

Sheppard wondered for a minute if he had conveniently forgotten the last twenty minutes. "Yeah, sure," he snapped sarcastically, before shaking his head. "So what's happening now?"

"Well, eleven of the ships aren't moving. Only the lead ship is coming closer," Fairfield informed him, leaning down to the screen. "I'll tell you though, those cloaking devices will be a big help."

Sheppard nodded. "Yeah, I know. And that's what I told them to do. Once they're over the city, I told them to take a smaller ship and we'll let it through the shield."

"And they actually went for that?" Goldman demanded, taking his time looking between his leader and Sheppard. "After the conversation you had with them, I'm surprised they didn't start firing on us or anything."

"Well, I can be very persuasive," he told the man, looking down at the screen himself. "Oh, look at that. A smaller ship, heading this way from the cruiser." He across at Fairfield. "We should go meet them."

The man nodded, and they both turned to leave, while Goldman stayed behind to watch the screen. But they didn't go alone, with half a dozen large and armed men joining them half way there, courtesy of Goldman's instructions.

The Genii landed on one of the closer, smaller piers, and as Sheppard and Fairfield approached, they could both see a group of men disembarking the small ship. The small ship that looked remarkably like a jumper. It wasn't, but it was obvious the design was the same.

Fairfield paused twenty metres from the craft, and Sheppard stopped beside him, suddenly wishing he had a gun on him. Or even a knife. But now was not the time to be remembering past (very past) mistrust and he made himself relax as much as he could while the Genii approached.

They numbered seven, the lead man and his own half a dozen guards, heavily armed but managing to appear non-threatening. Still, Sheppard kept an eye on them, watching intently for any finger twitching. Not that he would have been able to do much.

Most of attention, however was taken by the big man in the lead, the one Sheppard knew instantly was Damora himself. He was as tall as Ronon had been, and just as solid, and he commanded respect. Sheppard, remembering the Genii leaders he had known – Cowen and Ladon Radim – couldn't help but compare him to both. And he knew that Damora truly was a leader, shaped by the chaotic times his people had been forced to endure for the past 50,000 years.

Hopefully Fairfield didn't go blabbing that that was partly his fault. Damora looked like he could handle himself in a fight.

The Genii stopped a few feet from the waiting Atlantis party, and smiled in greeting. To Sheppard's surprise the smile was genuine – warm and respectful. Not what he had expected from the Genii.

"Welcome to Atlantis," Fairfield greeted, stepping forward and offering his hand. Damora did likewise, taking the offer. "My name is Daniel Fairfield, current leader of the city."

At this, Damora frowned and looked at Sheppard. "Are you not the one from the message?" he asked. "The one known as Sheppard? The last survivor of the Atlanteans?"

The pilot stepped forward and offered his own hand. "I am," he assured the man. "But Fairfield here leads the expedition. He and his team woke me from stasis, believing I had the key to destroying Michael."

Damora nodded, obviously not quite understanding. But he let it pass and introduced himself, proving Sheppard's earlier assumption correct. "I am Commander Ladon Damora, of the Genii," he told them, before standing up, straight and proud. "And we are prepared to fight side by side with Atlantis once more."

* * *

I know, most people were expecting it to be the Wraith. And let me tell you, I was tempted. But I figured they would have died out from starvation, and besides, the whole stealing other people's technology just seems to fit the Genii. Plus, I really like them, they are heaps of fun to write!

See you in a few days. Oh, and sorry about that again. Life calls!


	21. Chapter 21: Trio

**Author's Note:** Phew, you all have no idea how lucky you are to be getting this chapter tonight. God the internet at home sucks. Like, really, really bad! Like slow and fat and really, really annoying. I'm dreading summer when I don't have uni halls internet...

Anyways, here's the next chapter, hope you likies!

* * *

**Chapter 21: Trio**

Looking around the conference room that afternoon, Sheppard settled back into his chair, basking in that sense of completion he felt when he studied the gathered leaders. Fairfield and Goldman sat at the head of the semi-circle, both relaxed and looking hopeful. John sat to their right, in his own world, coming to accept the fact that he no longer belonged to these people – these people being the remaining humans of the universe.

Across from him sat Chayal and Damora, comfortable in their own friendship, and coming to trust the Olympians. Sheppard had been a little surprised to learn that the two peoples, the ones he knew as Athosian and Genii, were now firm allies, and had been for some several thousand years. And that the foundations for that friendship had been laid late in the Earth settlement of Atlantis when Michael had held Pegasus in a cold, hard grip.

Chayal didn't even seem that upset that Damora had hidden cloaking technology from her.

"We had a basic plan before you showed up," Goldman began, needing to get Damora up to speed. "And your arrival will only aid it. In fact, I'm almost sure we can win the entire battle now, without help from our own ships."

"What is the plan?" Damora asked, glancing once at Chayal. "And how can we help? Whatever my people can do, to protect Atlantis, will be done."

That was a different sentiment than what John was used to, but he didn't say anything. Let sleeping dogs lie, as the saying went.

Goldman nodded, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. "We appreciate it, Commander Damora," he began, looking to Fairfield for conformation before continuing. "And now, with your cloaking technology, the plan can only be improved."

Sheppard wondered if he had taken a look at the long range sensors lately. Because while a dozen ships were great, and it took their total to eighteen, there were still fifty Wraith Hive ships coming their way. Complete, no doubt, with their own cruisers, and Darts and sneaky little hybrids equipped to fly them.

In fact, the more Sheppard thought about it – and he had been doing that a lot lately – the more he was beginning to think that this was impossible. No, beyond impossible.

But he didn't mention that either.

Unaware of Sheppard's thoughts, Goldman ploughed on. "Originally Chayal's ships were going to hide behind the closest moon until half of Michael's fleet had dropped out of hyperspace. Our own ship, the Helios, which Sheppard so thoughtfully delivered to us, would be waiting in orbit around this planet, to face Michael's fleet. Chayal's ships would attack from behind. We would take out as many as we were able to take out, and then retreat back to Atlantis to wait for our own ships which are on route from our own galaxy."

"A surprise attack as Michael drops out of hyperspace. Very clever," Damora acknowledged. A flicker in Sheppard's direction showed he thought it was the pilot's plan. Sheppard noticed, and wondered for a moment if these people had actually glorified him in his long absence. "And I'm assuming our ships will be with Chayal's?"

Fairfield shook his head. "No need. Not with your cloaking technology. If you're cloaked until they come out of hyperspace, and lined up with the Helios, you should be able to attack front on with us. It will give the Helios a much higher chance of limited damage."

"And when we have sustained damage?" Damora asked, looking once at Chayal. She already knew the plan, minus the quick revisions due to the Genii arrival.

"We retreat back to Atlantis," Sheppard told him, entering the conversation for the first time. "As soon as you can fight no more, as soon as shields are failing, whatever… get back in this city where the shields can protect you. We wait for as long as the shield's will hold, for the Olympian ships. And hope that we decimate Michael's forces enough for them to wipe the Pegasus fleet clean from space."

"And if they can't?" Damora questioned. "Or the shield's fail before the Olympian ships arrive? What do you plan on doing then?"

"Gate somewhere else," Sheppard told him, knowing the question was for him. Damora was asking what he planned on doing. He didn't care about the Olympians, just the mythical hero Sheppard. God, he had been put on a pedestal, by the Genii of all people. At least Chayal had managed to hide it. "Somewhere within Pegasus, and continue the fight. Of course, the ships might have to try and blast their way through Michael, if it comes to that, but if I'm in the chair, taking shots at them with the drones, you should be okay."

Damora frowned. "Why not just destroy this fleet with your drones? I saw the power of them earlier. They are a great weapon. Surely that would be enough."

Sheppard chuckled. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But it takes a lot of drones to take down a Hive ship. And, even having restocked them, we only have a limited supply. Not enough to take down fifty Hive ships. I might be able to take out a few, if they remain close enough, which is another consideration. But I doubt I'd be able to destroy them all."

Damora nodded, and then seemed to be out of questions, leaning back and smiling reassuringly at Chayal. Fairfield looked around the table, and then nodded. "Well, if there are no more questions… We have a lot of work to do and only a few days to do it in. Let's get down to business."

* * *

Getting ready for a siege turned out to be harder than Sheppard had thought it would be.

The problem was, they didn't know how long they would be trapped here. And they didn't know what they would have at their disposal. Wraith tactics included dialling into the gate address to stop people from escaping via the portal. However, they weren't sure if Michael had Atlantis' Stargate address.

They had to assume he did. And, working under that assumption, they faced several problems. Such as food, space and power. Or lack thereof.

The space issue became apparent when Damora's cruisers began to land. Assuming all his ships survived the initial encounter with Michael, that meant that twelve Wraith cruisers, five Natoshian ships and one Helios had to share the limited pier and sand space that Atlantis had to offer. Assuming they all survived the battle.

It took some careful planning, sharing of specific details such as ship size and some masterful piloting by the Genii to get every one of their cruisers on the ground to be checked over and made ready for battle and still leave space enough for the Natoshian ships, who had demanded they be allowed to land to do some work. John didn't even want to know how that would go when they were trying for a fast landing, when their systems were failing and people were dying.

The other key issue, that of food, was far simpler to address. After some careful negotiating by Sheppard, both Chayal and Damora agreed to share the addresses to several of their safe planets to harvest enough food to last them a long time. With rationing it would last even longer. Assuming Michael did dial in to Atlantis, they wouldn't get many chances to dial out and go searching for supplies. They would have even less chances to dial back in and return safely. If Fairfield's people didn't turn up, they couldn't stay in the city indefinitely.

Which brought Sheppard's mind to the third issue. Power.

As one of his many tasks – as the only one with the ATA gene and extensive knowledge of Atlantis' systems – he helped some of the scientists do diagnostics on the ZPMs and power consumption. And Sheppard was a little worried to find the city was eating up power at a far faster rate than she had in his time. He had told them that age really was taking a toll on her, and here, finally, was proof of what he had been saying.

There was little he could do about that except warn Fairfield. However, when Chayal's people arrived the morning after the Genii had, they had close to a thousand men and women occupying the city. Each Genii cruiser had housed around sixty people, while the Natoshian vessels carried a little under fifty, each member needed to ensure the various ships ran as needed. And no matter how many times he did the math, Sheppard knew it was too many people. Even with many of the Pegasus natives remaining in quarters aboard their ships.

And once the hybrids began firing at the shields, when they had retreated to the safety of the city… there wouldn't be long enough. Sheppard was sure of it.

He sighed and leaned over the railing, trying to ignore the sand and instead imagining crashing waves.

It had been two days since the Genii had arrived. Two days of hectic preparations, of time spent divided between working with Kate on the Helios, helping other scientists with various other systems in the city, and acting as mediator far too often between the three peoples currently vying for respect in the city. Now there was a job he had never thought he would need to do.

Not that Fairfield, Chayal and Damora were nasty to each other or anything. But issues seemed to constantly come up. Such as when Fairfield had begun talking to them about gathering enough supplies for a long siege from their respective planets. The natives had been none too pleased at the prospect of giving up food and water sources to a race they didn't know.

But that had died down in the past afternoon, and now that time was short, they seemed to be working together well. In comparison at least. Those fifty little dots inching closer to their sphere on the long range scanners worked well as a social cohesive.

He heard the door open to the balcony outside the control room and pulled himself out of his troubled thoughts in time to turn to see Goldman approaching, arm still in his sling.

"Thought I'd find you out here," the Olympian said as he came to lean over the rail. He looked up at the poisonous sky and shivered. Sheppard knew he wasn't seeing the sky, but rather the still invisible armada headed their way through hyperspace. "It's nearly here."

Sheppard had seen the scanners as well. He nodded. "Yeah I know. They'll be here in an hour or two."

He didn't add anything, just looked over the city, trying to etch every detail into his mind. It had become a sort of ritual for him, in the face of impending doom. He would come out here, or to some other balcony, somewhere, overlooking the city, and try desperately to imprint every little detail into his memory. He had always found it amusing of a sorts that he had always found something new to remember every time he performed this same ritual of looking over his city.

But try as he might today, he just couldn't see anything he had never seen before.

He sighed, and dropped his head, feeling a terrible sadness well up from within. Atlantis wasn't meant to feel like this. But the city had been alone for too long, and had been in a state of warfare more often than not when she was occupied. It was enough to wear anyone down. Even a city.

Goldman suddenly shifted, and grew uncomfortable. "Do you…" He paused, licking his lips, and Sheppard looked up at him, curious. None of the Olympians he had spoken to had a problem with speaking their minds or emotions, and Goldman had never been any different. So what had him so uncomfortable now?

"Spit it out," Sheppard ordered, needing to know.

Goldman looked at him. "Do you think we'll survive this?" he asked, rushing it out so the words almost sounded jumbled and incoherent. But Sheppard heard. He heard it all.

He turned away and sighed. "Honestly?" he asked. "I don't know. I really don't." He stood up straight, wondering why Goldman had come to him to ask. "But I'll tell you this," he added as he turned away and clasped the man's shoulder reassuringly. "If we don't we'll go down with one hell of a swing."

He retreated to the control room, joining the three leaders by the scanner as he left Goldman on the balcony, and took a deep breath as he saw how close Michael was. Oh God, he really was close.

"I think it's time to set up," Fairfield muttered, and the rest of them nodded in agreement, Sheppard crossing his arms to reinforce his conviction.

"We will go to our ships," Chayal informed them, nodding at Damora. "And may the Ancestors guide us," she included, before turning away and grabbing at her radio to begin giving orders. Damora wasn't far behind.

Sheppard turned, knowing his own part in this. Or thinking he did. He was supposed to go to the Helios and get in the weapon's chair to do what he could with his ATA gene. But apparently someone else had other ideas.

"Sheppard, wait," Fairfield called out, and the pilot turned back, catching the man nod once at Chayal and Damora. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What?" he demanded slowly, looking between the three leaders himself, even as the two natives left to get to their respective ships. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Fairfield shrugged his head. "From what I've learned of you since meeting you… no." He paused and then stepped forward. "Chayal and Damora and I had a talk, while you were out. And we all agree… you're in charge up there."

Sheppard blinked. "Excuse me?" he asked, sure he hadn't heard right. No, he couldn't be. Could he?

Fairfield nodded. "This fleet, this allied attack, needs to be under the command of a single leader. As you've probably figured already," he said wryly. "None of us are going to let the other have that much control. There's still too much mistrust."

"So you picked me?" he demanded. "I'm not qualified to do this. Besides, I'm in the chair, remember, the one that controls the shiny weapons that are going to do the most damage."

Fairfield scowled. "You can do both, just like you did when the Genii showed up unannounced. And yes, you are qualified. You're a military leader, a smart man, and you know the enemy. Look, you won't even have to do that much. Just tell Chayal when to come out and tell Damora when to uncloak. And, if the need arises, tell everyone to fall back. And you can do all that from the chair."

Sheppard groaned and rubbed his eyes, realizing they didn't have the time to argue about this. "Fine. Okay. Fine. I'll take command. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Fairfield grinned. "Trust me. We do. We wouldn't have it any other way. And you're the most qualified to lead this attack on Michael. Now, guess you better get to your ship."

His ship. Right. He shook his head once more, just so the man knew he was doing this only with a degree of objection, and turned to go find the Helios. Which wasn't hard considering the ship was several stories tall.

He didn't go immediately to the Helios' chair room, but stopped by the bridge first, to see who was there. He wasn't surprised when Goldman walked in after him a few seconds later.

Nodding at the man, Sheppard didn't bother speaking. Instead he took a deep breath and walked to the front window, glancing askance at the captain's chair only once. He paused by the window, and there, waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Within minutes of near total silence on the Helios' bridge – men staring at him with various mixes of reassurance and hope – Sheppard saw what he was looking for. And the sight took his breath away.

The Helios sat on the east side of the city, while both Chayal and Damora had landed elsewhere, centred on the western piers. And in the silence of the Ancient ship, Sheppard could hear their engines firing up.

The noise rose like a growl above the city, a low humming mixed with the blast of engines that sounded like music to the pilot's ears. The sound rose, getting louder as more and more ships, the result of one of the greatest alliances in Pegasus' more recent history. Unable to help himself, a slow grin spread across Sheppard's face.

And then the first ship hovered into sight. It was one of the Wraith-turned-Genii cruisers, and Sheppard watched it with a newly found appreciation for Wraith technology. It paused in the air, waiting for its comrades before it would take off.

A second later one of Chayal's ships rose to join the cruiser, and Sheppard was taken aback once more by the startling similarities the ship had to the Daedalus. What he wouldn't give for that ship now, and her crew with all their experience in space battles.

And then more and more ships rose to join their friends and allies, and Sheppard felt nostalgia leave him, replaced by awe as he saw great advancements in human history in the Pegasus Galaxy hover before his very eyes. He realized just how far they had come, and how much further they should have been. Could have been. Because this was…

Amazing.

Within minutes the entire Pegasus contingent was in the air, seventeen space ships of varying sizes and potency but all undoubtedly sharing an equal determination to do what they could and much, much more.

Watching them disappear into the atmosphere, Sheppard finally turned away from the window and nodded at the Olympian technicians dotted around the bridge, and at Goldman.

"Fire up the engines," he ordered, grinning. "Let's get this boat in the air."

At his words, the engines came online quickly, purring and ready, impatient almost. And as the Helios rose up from Atlantis' pier and pierced the shield keeping the city safe, John finally sat back in the captain's chair, using the controls there to tap into the radio both Chayal and Damora had agreed to use, seeing as Fairfield had been the only one with enough to go around.

"This is Sheppard," he called out, looking ahead as the air darkened and the expanse of space, comforting in its own way, met his eyes. "Chayal, Commander Damora, can you hear me?"

"I can, Sheppard," Damora answered brusquely, but Sheppard took no offence to the tone. He had quickly come to realize that it was the man's natural way of speaking.

"I can also," Chayal informed him a moment later, her voice crackling with the effect of the moon in between them. "Though it is not easy."

Sheppard nodded though neither of them could see him. "I didn't expect it to be, Chayal." He checked sensors to his right. "Michael's barely ten minutes from dropping out of hyperspace. I want you to maintain radio silence in that time. We don't want him knowing you're here before time."

"Agreed," Damora told him, before falling into said agreement. Chayal did the same a second later, and Sheppard took a deep breath as he cut off contact momentarily. Then he looked up to Goldman.

"Bridge is yours," he told the man. "Shoot with the secondary weapons systems on my order. I think you've got the rest. I'll be in the chair room."

He took off before Goldman had even begun nodding, fiddling with his radio as he ran to the chair. If he was in command, he couldn't be out of contact, not even for a moment. Then again, the chair should help with that.

With a relieved sigh – and liking the familiarity – he slid into the chair and activated it, feeling the weapons control slip easily into his mind. He accessed various other systems – something he had been practising – and tapped into them so he not only had an ear in communications but he could almost see the battlefield in his mind courtesy of the Helios' sensors.

And he waited.

With bated breath, he waited in the chair, poised to attack the moment he saw a Wraith Hive ship in the vicinity. The silence seemed to press in all around him, the radio in his ear quiet as everyone else waited with a stillness that belied the rapid beatings of their hearts.

Because they knew the fate of two galaxies potentially rested on this battle and its outcome. And no one wanted to lose.

And then the moment of waiting passed. Sheppard's radio burst into life, and Fairfield's resigned, worried, anxious voice came over the line.

"The Stargate has been activated," he told Sheppard quickly. "We've raised the shield, but nothing seems to be coming through. Looks like you were right."

Sheppard shifted on the chair but didn't answer. Because a sensor had just gone off in his head, and he knew.

"Heads up, everyone," he called over the radio, knowing it reached Fairfield, Damora and Chayal. "Michael is here."

As if his words were cues, the space he could see in his mind opened up, a flash of bright green smoke-like vapour that faded away, as if blown away by the wind, ripped across the black of space.

A pit grew in Sheppard's stomach, even the battle-hardened colonel having trouble dealing with the sight that met his eyes as ship after ship after ship came through, exiting so close to each other that the darkness of space made way for the sheer intensity of hyperspace windows.

And ship after ship after ship continued to come through, appearing like heralds for the armies of hell.

Ship after ship after ship…

* * *

Eesh...


	22. Chapter 22: First Strike

**Chapter 22: First Strike**

Getting a hold of himself quickly, the sheer magnitude of what they were up against sinking and disappearing into the rock that was his gut, Sheppard regained complete control of weapons and called on the drones from within the bowels of the Helios.

"Fire!" he cried, though there was no need to shout over the radio, not when Goldman should have been able to hear him just fine. He saw it happen as drones escaped their holds, and he was forced, for the moment, to ignore the inner workings of the fleet he was supposedly in command of as he concentrated on those drones finding their targets.

Already fifteen ships were through, and he cursed his initial lack of response, because he could only concentrate on destroying two of them at once. Still, Goldman helped him along, firing with Asgard-like energy beams at the approaching Hive ships.

Three explosions ripped the sky, and Sheppard found some reason to celebrate as three Hive ships were destroyed, taking out another two smaller cruisers he had almost not seen while wrapped up in the immensity of the Hive ships.

But that victory was short lived, because as the smoke and fire cleared he found another five ships already exited hyperspace.

And now they were firing back.

A sharp jolt hit the Helios, and Sheppard was forced to halve his concentration, focusing instead on only one Hive ship as he tapped back into communication, needing to know what was going on.

"Shields are holding," Goldman snapped in response to his query, obviously worried and disturbed by the approaching armada. "Weapons are still intact, as are sub-light engines. We can still make it back."

Another explosion cleared to show another three Hive ships taking its place, and Sheppard swore. For every ship they destroyed, more took its place, and the Helios was shuddering with the number of hits it was receiving.

It had to be now.

"Damora, go!" Sheppard yelled, concentrating on yet another Hive ship and watching as the drones flew its way, encircling it, ripping into it, bombarding it to pieces. And yet again another few Hives took its place.

Nearly half of Michael's ships were present now, minus the few they had managed to destroy. It wasn't many, but hopefully…

Still watching the battle through the ship's systems, watching the ships exit hyperspace with astonishing speed, Sheppard was quickly beginning to realize hope had no place right here and right now.

He fired another round of drones as Damora's cruisers materialized seemingly out of nowhere, shooting at the hybrids instantly. Sheppard felt a surge of relief as the Hives paused, allowing his drones to rip yet another of the never ending line of enemy ships to shreds and fire. A second later the Genii vessels, six either side of the Helios, accounted for another two ships, their weapons versions of the older Wraith types.

They still worked, somehow worming their way through shields and slamming into the outer hulls of the Hives. Watching and firing yet another burst of drones at the lead ship headed their way, Sheppard shifted and waited, trying to count while concentrating on a million other things all at once.

An explosion to his left changed that, breaking his concentration and count, watching, stunned, as barely minutes after they had entered the battle, a Genii cruiser exploded.

"Damora!" Sheppard cried, anger and frustration making the drones swirling around just another Hive more lethal, and particularly vindictive as they destroyed it.

"I'm fine, Sheppard. But I think it's time Chayal got here."

The pilot couldn't have agreed more, leaning into the chair, heart beating rapidly, breathing quick, attempting to calm himself. "Chayal, we need you!"

He fired more drones, flinching as there came the sounds of sparks and several cries of shock from the bridge of the Helios. Forcing himself to distance it from his task, he followed the path of the drones as they punched their way through the shield of just another Hive, breaching holds and causing enough explosions to shatter the integrity of the ship and destroy it.

Taking a deep breath, feeling tired and worn already – how long had they been at this, it felt like years – Sheppard took a break, opening burning eyes to stare at the empty chair room.

"Goldman, what's going on?" he demanded in a hoarse voice, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"It's not good, Sheppard," the man answered after a moment, concern and panic in his voice, as well as a touch of grief. "Damora's lost two ships. Chayal's just coming in from behind. Our shields are holding, for the moment."

Sheppard nodded at nobody. "Okay. Tell me if our the shields get down to twenty percent." And he prepared to go back in, relaxing on the chair.

"Sheppard, are you all right?" Goldman suddenly demanded. "Because you don't exactly sound crash hot at the moment."

"I'm fine!" the pilot snapped before he could help himself. Then he softened. "I'm fine, Goldman, thanks for the concern. Keep me in the loop on the Helios."

He didn't hear if the man replied, tuning it out to concentrate once more on the drones and destroying those ships. He regained the vision of the battlefield, now littered with the debris of over a dozen ships, a mixture of Hives and cruisers. And it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.

Grimly determined, Sheppard once again called on the drones, setting them lose on the lead ship firing at the Genii cruisers. It exploded quickly, and somewhere Sheppard heard Damora thank him.

The fire cleared quickly, and Sheppard gave another huge sigh of relief as he watched Chayal's ships all but slam into them from behind. Another two Hives blew before Michael's forces even knew they were there.

Of course, once they did…

Sheppard swore as one of the Natoshian ships exploded, closing his vision for a moment, unable to watch everyone die. He still sent drones after the Hive that had destroyed them, of course, but he knew it was pointless. Well, not pointless, but of no use. There were just too many of them.

Giving a wordless roar, Sheppard flung the vision back open again, pulling on everything the Helios could give him, sending drone after drone at the Hives, hitting as many as he could with as few drones as possibly, making the strikes count. It was a small victory as five ships were destroyed – four Hives and another of Damora's cruisers.

They were down to fourteen ships now. Against… too many to count. They had taken care of maybe a dozen or so Hives, but there were still plenty of cruisers out there, and of course the small fact of close to forty pain in the ass Hive ships. He hit another of Michael's vessels just to make himself feel better.

And then Goldman's voice came over the radio, shaking from anger or… no, it couldn't be fear.

"Sheppard," he called, snapping the pilot from his connection with the ships sensors and closing him off from the far too one-sided battle going on before him. "We're uh, picking up a communication from one of the ships."

The colonel knew who it was before he even heard the voice, a snarl curling his lip as his suspicions were proven correct.

"This battle is pointless, human," Michael's voice sneered, the smugness apparent even over the radio. "Surrender now and you can return to your pathetic life."

Sheppard laughed out loud, and concentrated on that communication. "If only I could, Michael," he spat, thinking of the crystal he had stowed in his shirt pocket as a sort of good luck charm. A reminder of everything he had lost. "But I don't think that's possible."

He waited for the reply and spent the time trying to track down where the connection was coming from, all the while still aiming for enemy ships as they got close enough. He was so intent on other things that he couldn't concentrate well enough to fire on anything further.

A second later Michael's surprised voice came back over the line. "Well, well, Colonel Sheppard. I must admit, I did not expect _this_."

Sheppard smirked, though no one could see it. It did come out in his voice however. "What, me alive? Yeah, you didn't manage to quite kill me," he told the ex-Wraith, headache blossoming as he attempted to follow the connection that allowed this little chat through space. "How many attempts is that now?"

Michael chuckled. "How many times have you tried to kill me?" Just once more, Sheppard promised silently, taking a huge breath as he realized he was forgetting to do it. "Still, my offer stands, even for you. Surrender, save the lives of your people. Is it really worth this waste?"

"Hmm, let's see," Sheppard snapped sarcastically. "Is it really worth dying over freedom from fear and oppression? You know what, I'm gunna have to go with… _yes_."

He almost had it, he thought with a certain viciousness as drones destroyed another Hive. Across the great expanse though, Chayal was down to three ships. Damora still had seven. And the Helios was… well, he was holding.

But if he could just kill Michael, then hell yes, it would be worth it.

"Come now, Sheppard," Michael tried again. "You're being decimated. How many ships have you got now? Not enough, that's for sure. I mean, did you really think you could destroy my fleet. I outnumbered you nearly three to one to begin with. Though I must admit, I did not expect such a response to your broadcast."

Sheppard chuckled. "This galaxy's good like that," he told the half-human he had helped create. "Always plenty of people willing to help fight. It's kind of refreshing."

"Refreshing is not the word I would use," Michael sneered as another of his ships exploded as the result of Natoshian firepower and Helios' energy weapons. It didn't even affect the cold hearted bastard, while Sheppard felt like another shard of glass pierced his heart for every ship and life his allies lost. "Annoying, perhaps."

Sheppard twisted in the seat, taking another deep breath, ribs hurting as his lungs sucked in air. He almost dropped the connection, almost lost it, but he managed to grab it again in time, attempting still to follow the communication back to Michael's ship. But it was hard, because he was sending it via a few different ships, and it kept on jumping when one of the Hives in the middle of the connection up and died.

"Annoying is always good," Sheppard told him, remembering the conversation. He had to do this, and quickly. A human mind was not meant to be using the chair this way, a fact he was quickly coming to realize. It was far too complicated. But he almost had it. Another Hive ship went up thanks to the drones. Almost…

"Especially when it's annoying you," Sheppard continued, arching slightly. "I mean, without them… I don't know…" Aha! He had it, yes, he had it! Getting excited, he grinned. "Without them, I wouldn't have been able to do this!"

He gathered the full force of control over the weapons system and pictured Michael's ship waiting in reserve, somewhere in the middle of the rest of his Hive ships. And he shot a dozen drones at it.

Three small lights entered his field of vision, aimed at the central Hive, and Sheppard's stomach dropped, almost sending him into shock, watching the drones, the last drones the Helios possessed, fire and hit Michael's Hive ship in a useless show of sparks.

And for a moment he was drowning in horror, unable to believe his luck. How could the ship have not had more drones? How had he used them all? He couldn't have! Could he?

Somehow he surfaced to hear Michael laughing, a rich, deep, cold laugh. "Oh yes, Sheppard. Magnificent. Absolutely terrifying."

Screaming in rage and frustration, Sheppard jumped out of the chair, severing the connection between his ship and Michael's first, effectively shutting out the laughter. From his ears at least. It echoed in his mind as he ran to the bridge, stumbling slightly as she ent an order out to every remaining ship. He wasn't even sure how may it was now. How many men, good lives, had been lost today?

"Michael's ship is the central Hive!" he cried as he skidded around a corner. "The one not firing, the one that just got hit by three drones. If you can, hit it. Destroy it!" He didn't have to be the one to kill Michael if the bastard would just die painfully.

He ran into the bridge in time to see the Helios concentrating fire on the central ship, cutting down Hives in its path in a slow show of raw power.

It wasn't going to be enough.

Sheppard slowed to a walk, anger burning in his stomach, joining Goldman at the front, watching the battle, trying to ignore the flashing lights and small alarms and singe marks that told him his own ship wasn't exactly in tiptop condition.

"What's the score?" he asked hollowly, seeing the despair in Goldman's eyes as the man turned to shake his head at the failing commander.

"It's not good. Chayal's down to two ships. Damora's lost five. And Helios' shields are down to thirty-five percent." He shook his head again. "And Michael's Hives just keep on coming."

Sheppard nodded, feeling like crying. He actually felt like sitting down and crying, just letting it all out and handing the reins to someone else, someone who could do this, someone who wasn't him. Because he suddenly felt old and tired, as if he were feeling every single one of his 50,000 years. He felt weak and strained, and as if he could just give up right on the spot.

But what kind of man would that make him? And how could he let Michael win like that?

Goldman was looking at him. "What happened?" the man asked quietly. "I saw you shoot some drones at the ship, but…"

"I ran out," Sheppard told him hopelessly, watching as the energy beam from the Helios cut through one more. If only he could reach Michael now, if only he could have one more drone! "I managed to follow the connection, but I ran out of drones." He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, closing his eyes for a mere second as he flinched at the destruction of another Genii ship.

He opened his eyes as sparks showered in the corner of the bridge, and then turned back and sat down rigidly in the captain's chair. They couldn't stay out here any longer. He didn't know what they had been thinking in the first place. How could they have believed they could ever defeat Michael in a battle like this?

He sighed and opened communications to every ship under his command. "This is Colonel Sheppard," he called. "We're retreating back to Atlantis! I repeat, get back to Atlantis! There's no more we can do out here."

* * *

Well, it didn't exactly go according to plan...


	23. Chapter 23: The Siege

**Author's Note:** Sorry about last night! You would not believe how much work I had to do. I was, no joke, studying from 2pm until 12am. That's ten hours, people! I'll tell you, it sucked out loud...

But here's the next chapter! In case you forgot, the last chapter ended with Michael's fleet kicking their asses...

* * *

**Chapter 23: The Siege**

Landing was rockier than Sheppard would have liked, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he watched through the window. Watched the people he was supposed to be leading limp home, damaged, possibly beyond repair. The shield blazed above them, seeming to shudder every time a hybrid weapon hit it, sending flashes of orange light cascading over the blue. As if the radiation didn't effect the shield's colouring enough.

Sheppard watched as the other ships landed as well, on their respective piers. At least there was no issue about landing space now. Not when they had lost so many.

Eighteen ships had left to face Michael's armada. And eight managed to make it home, the Genii having lost another as they retreated as fast as they could back to the relative safety of Atlantis.

Sheppard remained sitting in the captain's chair as the Olympians disembarked, heads hanging, spirits low. They had gone up against the might of Michael's forces and had been forced to face reality. The bad guys were just too powerful.

Fist cracking, Sheppard stood up, needing to hit something. Not wanting to take it out on the Lantean ship, he dropped the hand and sighed, losing all his energy and fight. He trudged from the ship and made his way to the control room. No doubt that was where Chayal and Damora were heading. No doubt to wonder why they had picked him.

The walk seemed longer than usual, and he actually appreciated that, taking in once more the beauty of the city. The now sad beauty, like that of a dying afternoon in autumn. He missed autumn. What he wouldn't give for one more day on Earth. One more day of peace, of his friends, of a problem free environment where all he had to worry about was what movie to watch in his downtime.

What he wouldn't give for some way, any way back, just to see them one last time.

The Stargate shimmering away threatened to distract him, but he forced himself up the stairs. Chayal and Damora were waiting in the control room, standing before the scanners with Fairfield. They both seemed unhurt, for which he was glad. They turned as he entered, and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he told them. He would have gone on, too, if Chayal had not raised a hand to stop him. And that was when he noticed her sad smile.

"Do not be, Colonel Sheppard," she ordered, her eyes shining with already shed tears. "We achieved what we set out to achieve."

He looked at her, confused. "You lost three ships." He saw Damora seemed to share her sentiments. "And you lost seven. We got our asses kicked."

They both nodded, and then motioned at the screen. "True. We lost many. But Michael lost more. We cut his fleet in half."

Sheppard's jaw dropped and he jumped up to where they waited to look for himself.

They were right, he quickly realized. Michael had only twenty-five ships left. Hive ships at least. There were still numerous cruisers around, but they had managed to destroy twenty-five of Michael's Hive ships.

"I don't believe it," he muttered before shaking himself. "It doesn't matter. The cost was still too high."

Chayal's face hardened. "They are our people, Colonel Sheppard. We will decide whether the price is too great."

He stared her in the face, before nodding. "Okay," he told her, knowing they didn't have time to argue. It wouldn't do any good anyway. They would both insist they were right and the other was wrong. "Okay. Where do we go from here?"

Fairfield motioned towards the conference room and the four of them entered it, sitting down with a great sigh of relief. Sheppard grabbed the jug of probably stale water that was sitting by him and poured himself a big glass, remembering how much the chair on Helios had taken out of him. Then he frowned, wondering how much time had passed. It felt like hours.

"How long were we up there?" he asked before taking a drink. Fairfield looked at his watch, and then shrugged.

"Just under an hour. But I can tell you, it was a long hour. Waiting down here was not fun."

Sheppard chuckled darkly. "It wasn't exactly a party up there either." He sighed tiredly and leaned back in the chair, relishing in the comfort. "So. Anyone got any plans?"

"Could you finish them off with the drones Atlantis possesses?" Damora asked, his own voice tire. He looked Sheppard in the eye. "They proved incredibly potent against the Hive ships."

Sheppard shook his head before Fairfield could. "No. We don't know what we might need them for yet. We don't know how long we're here. I ran out on the Helios, and it had far more than we do here. It wouldn't work."

"We can't evacuate either," Fairfield told them. "The gate has been active the entire time you were up there. It stopped once, but activated again before we could dial out. The next activation should be in about five minutes, and we'll try again then."

Sheppard nodded, feeling increasingly exhausted. "I didn't expect it to be an avenue anyway," he told the leader. He shrugged. "I think we should work on fixing the ships. Fairfield do you have any idea how long until your people arrive?"

The man shook his head. "No. Sorry. It could be any length of time. When I contacted Olympus they hadn't heard from them in about a week." He spread his arms helplessly. "I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you."

Chayal shook her head. "If we repair our ships, and then help if they do arrive, then perhaps then, we will be able to destroy enough of Michael's fleet for it to count. But until then, I see no course of action except to wait for the moment."

Damora sighed and then nodded in agreement. The other two men joined him a moment later. There was a moment of silence, and then Sheppard got to his feet. "If its all right with you all, I think I need to sleep." He tried not to let the pain in his ribs show. "Seems I was just reminded I'm not as young as I used to be."

* * *

He didn't head for his new quarters, but rather walked the route back to the Helios, knowing someone would be on him, attempting to fix the damage caused in the battle above them. They could probably use his help, or rather, the help of his ATA gene. Besides, it just felt wrong to be sleeping while the shield was pelted with blow after blow after blow.

The Helios was a hive of activity, with scientists and technicians going over every inch of the ship to find and repair any and all sustained damage. Nodding to a few, most of whom were getting used to seeing him around, Sheppard made his way to the bridge.

Which was less busy. In the sense that there were only two people sequestered away in the hub of the ship. However, as he walked in he couldn't help but see Goldman and Kate getting busy in another way.

His entrance startled them out of their lip lock, and Goldman jumped up out of the captain's chair he had been sitting in, nearly dumping Kate on the ground. Both spun to look at him guiltily. John on the other hand, smirked, a well of contentment coming to life inside him.

Even in the darkest of times and places, it was amazing what people could find.

"Ah, Sheppard," Goldman stammered, looking out of his depth for the first time. "We were just…"

As he trailed off, the pilot held up his hand. "I'm an adult, Goldman. I know what you were just. I was here to see if I could help, but I think now that offering any of that might seem a little… X-rated."

Kate blushed, and looked away as Sheppard's grin widened. She muttered something about going to help someone in auxiliary control and left as quickly as she could. John watched her go before turning back to Goldman.

"Please… don't tell anyone," the man said before Sheppard could say a word. "We're not supposed to get into relationships with co-workers. Especially here…"

"You mean here, as in the bridge of an intergalactic warship? The bridge that anyone could walk on to? At any time?" Sheppard shook his head. "I won't say a word. Promise."

Goldman heaved a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes tiredly, though he still managed a grin. "Thanks. Fairfield's great, but he's kind of one-minded about missions and the need to complete them. It's why he was accepted as commander of this expedition."

Sheppard chuckled. "Our… or at least, my expedition leaders were always people who allowed movement outside of the rules," he told the man, leaning against the captain's chair. "Otherwise I wouldn't have been the military commander."

Goldman nodded, and then shrugged. "I'd love to hear about it, one day," he said suddenly, shifting slightly. "I mean, we have the stories, but I would love to know how true we have them."

Sheppard grimaced. "Yeah, the stories. No offence, but I changed my mind. I never want to hear stories about me. Ever."

"You'd love some of them," Goldman told him. "Even as a myth, you're a real hero. Almost suicidal. I mean, there's one saying you climbed up the side of Atlantis' main tower. And having seen it for myself…"

"Ah, yeah," Sheppard said, remembering. "That one's actually true." At Goldman's jaw dropping disbelief, he shrugged helplessly. "What? It was the only way to get out of McKay's lab and into the control room to turn off a distress signal!"

Goldman looked like he was about to answer, before running feet interrupted them both. Sheppard turned in time to see Kate skidding into the bridge, face pale and breathing ragged.

"Jack, Sheppard…" She gasped. "You have to come, right now!"

"What is it?" Sheppard demanded, as they both moved towards her. She looked panicky, as if whatever she was about to tell them was very, very bad.

She shook her head as they all broke into a jog. "It's the Modules," she told him. "They're losing power twice as fast as before the Darts started suicide runs to impact the shields."

Sheppard skidded to a halt. "Sorry, what?" he looked over at Goldman, who looked just as surprised. "There are Darts hitting the shield now?"

Kate nodded, looking between the two as if the stop was a very, very bad thing. "Yeah, it started about five minutes ago. You didn't hear the radio announcement?"

Sheppard shook his and then shared a look with Goldman. He had a very, very bad feeling about this.

He took off down the corridors of the Helios, wondering why no one had bothered to tell him. Then again, Kate claimed they had. He reached for his ear and then realized he wasn't wearing his radio. He had taken it off as he left the Helios little over than an hour ago.

He reached into his pocket and put the radio on, tapping it once to establish a connection. "Fairfield, what's going on?" he demanded as he neared the exit of the Lantean ship.

"Sheppard, we've been trying to reach you!" Fairfield's slightly worried voice came over the com. "There are darts making suicide runs at our shield. And I think it's having an impact. The power consumption has doubled."

Sheppard finally made it back outside, and then slowed as over head a spot on the shield fired orange, spreading in a show of sparks and fire that the shield consumed. And, as he watched, eyes on the sky, he spotted another dart, alone, heading straight for the city, the pilot within it obviously uncaring that he and his ship were about to be vaporised.

The small Wraith vessel whistled closer, the noise noticeable even from within the shield. Sheppard watched, shaking his head, as it dive-bombed the city. And then, as it slammed hard into the shield, making the city shudder and once again sending flares over the shield.

"This isn't good," he whispered, breaking into a run again. That bad feeling in his stomach had suddenly doubled. Single darts making suicide runs at the impenetrable shield? It didn't make any sense. Even if power consumption had doubled, the shield should still last for a long time.

Which meant Michael was up to something. Something else. Something shifty, just like he always was. And Sheppard knew from past and very past experiences that Michael's shiftiness never ended well for him and this city.

"Fairfield, have you got men on those rail guns?" he demanded, as he continued to run, entering the city as above another dart exploded against the shield. Fairfield's voice came back quickly.

"No, why would we need them? That shield's going to hold, isn't it?" He sounded worried, as if he had put his faith in something that was about to disappoint him.

"The shield will hold," Sheppard confirmed grimly. "But there are single darts making runs at it. Michael's up to something, and the only thing we know is that he wants this city. Trust me, get those men on rail guns."

Over the radios, Sheppard heard Fairfield ordering men to their positions, and then Chayal's and Damora's questions as to why this was happening. They asked the same questions the Olympian leader had asked, and Fairfield gave them the same answer that Sheppard did.

By the time he reached then control room, Sheppard was gasping for air, and his lungs were burning, reminding him, once more, that he wasn't as healthy as he could be. He was close, for sure, but he wasn't one hundred percent there yet. He refused to believe Webb was right and that he would never heal completely.

He moved out into the balcony to stand with the three leaders he had aligned with. Alongside them stood three men on the two rail guns assigned to this balcony, their faces set grimly, their eyes determinedly scanning the sky, watching each impacting dart with a mixture of curiosity and horror.

Fairfield turned as the pilot walked in, trying to get his breath back. "Do you really think we need the guns armed?" he asked, looking up as a dart hit the shield directly above them.

Sheppard met his eyes as the man looked back, and then nodded slowly. "I really do, Fairfield," he muttered softly, looking up at the sky. "Trust me when I say I have a really bad feeling about this."

As if to emphasize his point, another screaming dart came into sight and hearing. All four of them looked up, while the gunners took aim at it, carefully following its flight from space down through the toxic atmosphere towards the city and inevitable death upon impact with the shield.

And even with no possible way the hybrid within could not realize that shield plus impact equalled death, it still came on, flying dangerously fast and headed straight for the central tower where the still active Stargate and all controls lay.

And Sheppard felt his stomach clench, that bad feeling not dissipating.

As the dart came closer to the shield, Sheppard pushed to the front of the balcony, his eyes consumed with the sight above him. And the dart came on. Metres, feet, inches from impact.

Only the impact never came, and, despite all odds, the dart found the right frequency and slid through the great shield of the last city of the Ancients as easily as sliding through air.

* * *

Okay, so I figured there must be _some_ way to get through those shields. If human ships can, don't see why Michael couldn't have found a way... There is a point for this, rest assured!


	24. Chapter 24: Poisoning the Well

**Author's Note:** If this chapter sounds a bit strange, weird or technically invalid… it's cause it probably is. It's also cause I was reading through it last night, and suddenly realized that Sheppard's plan involved actually lowering the shield… something I had forgotten, while writing, would subject everyone to very nasty and lethal radiation from a particular dying sun… So, rewrite occurred, and now… Well, this is the result.

Enjoy! Only five or six chapters to go! Five I think.

* * *

**Chapter 24: Poisoning the Well**

The whistling of the dart sounded like a triumphant scream as it found the right frequency to pass the shields, but it couldn't cover up the horrified, terrified gasps and cries of the men and women around Sheppard.

He, on the other hand, felt like he had been expecting such a thing, and as much as it killed him that their shield was now all but useless at their time of greatest need, his mind did not go blank like it had for those seconds after he had seen Michael's great fleet arriving.

"Take it down!" he screamed, running to the nearest gunner and shaking him from his horror. "Shoot it down!"

He pointed for extra emphasis, and the man got the point, yanked from his undoubtedly troubled and hopeless thoughts. He took aim and pulled the trigger of the huge gun, sending energy blasts firing into the air. And the dart tumbled out of the sky, a burning wreckage, to thankfully hit the sand below.

But not before it had beamed down a small strike force of hybrids. John could see them now, entering the city far below. While above, another two darts broke through the shield.

He tapped his radio, seeing as how Fairfield was still stuck in despair. "All gunners aim for those darts. Take them down, before the beam if you can. Do not let them near the city! Goldman, can you hear me?"

"I hear you Sheppard," he called, but not over the radio. The pilot spun to find the man standing behind him and watching the sky. But at least he was with it, even if he did flinch as the two gunners on this balcony opened fire.

Sheppard marched over to him, speaking quickly. "Gather a team and work your way through the city. There will be hybrids beaming down from those darts. Get teams of five guarding power, the chair room and all three stations connected to the star drive. Use the Natoshians and Genii to help."

Goldman chanced a look at Fairfield, who seemed to be coming around. Far too slowly for Sheppard though, who gave Goldman a quick shove to get him moving. "Go!" he cried. "We don't have time for chain of command!"

The man left, and Sheppard turned on the three leaders, tempted to give them all a punch for good measure. They were the leaders of their people, for crying out loud. They were supposed to be able to deal with it.

Then again, to them this was the mighty city of the Ancestors. It was supposed to be safe.

"Snap out of it!" he yelled in their faces, trying not to look up as another five darts passed through the shield. They all flinched, but managed to focus on him. "You need to think, and you need to do it quickly. How can we counteract this?"

Fairfield looked at the gunners and then back again, shrugging. "What more can we do?" he asked miserably. "They've broken through the shield."

Sheppard growled and really did nearly hit him. "Then we need to counteract the counteracting. We need to modify the shield." He had to work them through this, get them moving in more than a physical way. Which meant that he had to come up with a plan. He could do this.

"Modify the shield?" Chayal demanded, looking at her fellow leaders before looking at Sheppard. "But this is the city of the Ancestors. Surely it is beyond our technological capabilities?"

The pilot shook his head, wishing he had his own people to deal with this. At least they had never backed down from a challenge. These people had lived too long with fear and inferiority in technology and weapons.

"No. I know how we can modify the shields to act as a sort of weapon. In fact, I've done it before. What we need though is some sort of… crystal or device that… I don't know. Electrocutes or short circuits. Something that will disable or destroy the darts as they enter through the shield. You have to have something like that!" Or maybe Atlantis did. Dammit, he wished Rodney were here. He would know.

"My people have something."

John looked up in surprise at Chayal, who was looking at Damora sheepishly. She was the last person he had suspected would have something like this. The Athosians, her ancestors, had always been open, honest people, giving more than they needed to before you even knew you needed it.

Then again, it had been 50,000 years.

"I know you asked us about advanced weapons before, Commander," Chayal apologised to Damora. "And we said we had none." She looked to Sheppard. "But we have an experimental weapon which disintegrates metal. All but vaporizes it. We had planned to fit out our ships with it, but I think Atlantis needs it more at the moment."

"And you're only telling us now?" Sheppard demanded, pissed off. "You know, it would have been just as effective being used _on_ Michael's _big_ ships nearly two hours ago!"

She had the nerve to lift her head and glare at him. "We did what we thought was right, Colonel Sheppard. Have your people never hidden weapons away from those you did not wish to share it with?"

"Not when it came to the survival of a whole galaxy," he spat. "Or did you conveniently forget that it was _my_ people who initially gave you these technological advances such as ships and weapons that have allowed you to survive for the past 50,000 years!"

She still did not look sorry at what she had done, but grabbed her radio and called her brother for the guns. He stared at her for a moment before moving on, knowing it was doubtful he would get the apology he was looking for. Besides, he needed to use the time before her brother arrived to fill them in on the other small details that made his plan a big risk.

"We can use the crystals in Chayal's secret weapons to modify the shield," he told the three of them. "However, there is one small catch." He took a deep breath. "We can't have the shield at full strength while we do it, or the darts will just adapt to it. It will basically be holding back the radiation and that's it."

"What?" Damora demanded. "But Michael will attack for sure. His ships will kill us all."

Sheppard shook his head, knowing it would be hard to convince them. "Not if your ships attack again. If Michael's got his hands full with you, and, if Chayal agrees, her vaporizing weapons, then we should be able to put the crystals in place within ten minutes." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, ideally, we need the shield down. But thanks to the massive radiation, that's not going to happen. Ten minutes, that's all I'm asking."

"We will not survive ten minutes up there," Damora told him, spitting almost, and Sheppard felt his knuckles crack. He cut off the Genii before the man could go on.

"Yes you can!" he snarled. "You know why? Because the survival of this city depends on it. The survival of this galaxy depends on it! I know you have people at home. Would you have them believe you returned to them only because Michael managed to destroy the city of the Ancients?"

He took a step back and spread his arms wide. "Even now hybrids are in this city, beamed down from those darts. And it's going to be bloody hard to get rid of them!" He shook his head. "We need to stop those darts from getting through! And this is the only way we can do it. Unless any of you have any brilliant ideas?"

It was clear they didn't, and he only gave them a second to think about it before stepping up to them once more. "Here's what's going to happen. Use a small hyperspace burst to get clear of both the shields and Michael's ships. Attack them from behind and the sides. We'll get Goldman on the Helios, that's eight ships. Four from behind, two on either side. Attract Michael's fire, away from Atlantis, we'll get the shield's strength down and modified as quickly as we can. We won't raise it back to full capacity until you're back, because it will most likely affect your ships as well, but I'll cover your landing in the chair. And as soon as you're in, we initialise the shield's upgrade and we can all have a good night's sleep."

Chayal's brother returned then, and Sheppard contacted Goldman. "How are you going with those hybrids?"

"There are a hell of a lot of them," Goldman spat, quite obviously very distracted. Sheppard could hear firing in the background. "Now if you don't mind, I'm a little busy!"

Sheppard took Chayal's hand held experiment apart and studied the crystal within. "Fairfield, get someone who knows how to captain a ship on the Helios." He nodded at the two natives. "I need your best men to make up eight teams of four or five. I'll show them how to modify the shields, but there will still be hybrids around, so they need to be good in a fight. And we need them now." He nodded. "Get your people ready."

He turned away and gave the crystal another thorough look over before he realized he didn't really know what he was doing. He was just using the same plan they had used on the Replicators on Michael's darts, with a few modifications. And he was just hoping it worked. Not that he was about to tell anyone else that.

He turned back to find the three of them waiting for his next orders, surprisingly calm about his takeover of control. Which was good, because they obviously couldn't handle it.

"The ships are being manned and will take off in five minutes," Chayal told him, taking in the discarded pieces of experiment. "And I told my men to use the same weapon."

Sheppard smiled thinly at her. "Good. Now maybe we can thin out Michael's ships a bit more. Vaporization is always a good method of destruction." He turned to his radio. "All rail guns continue firing." Not that they had stopped in the last five minutes. "And be careful of any hybrids coming up on your positions."

Cautious of the darts circling above them, trying to avoid being hit while trying to set down troops, Sheppard walked to the balcony to watch the ships take off. They fired up their engines one by one, and, the job taking away all enjoyment in the scene, he nodded grimly and turned to walk back inside.

The teams called for by their respective leaders greeted him, and he grabbed another gun off Chayal's brother, Benji he thought. Or maybe it was Owin. He couldn't really tell.

At his silent instructions, another eight guns were dismantled, and very soon the nine teams, four of them led by one of the various leaders, including Sheppard, held a crystal.

Right on cue, Sheppard's radio came to life. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Collins. We are engaging the enemy."

"Received, Collins," Sheppard confirmed, taking the offered S-20 from one of Fairfield's men. "Keep them busy for as long as you can." He looked around at his own small army. "You lot, with me."

He took them only a few small steps, and showed them a map of the city. He quickly pointed out the ten pillars that contained the shield emitters. "I'll show you what to do with the closest one, but I can't do it alone, and we need that shield modified asap. So, the fastest teams get the furthest ones. Radio me as soon as you're done." He turned to Kate, nodding at her, knowing she knew what to do. "Let's move."

It didn't take long to reach the closest shield emitter, and there, Sheppard quickly showed them how to replace one of the crystals within the tray with the crystal from Chayal's vaporiser. All without mishap, which was strangely disconcerting for Sheppard, who was used to his plans being thwarted.

"Got it?" he asked, glancing around the large group for those comforting nods of confirmation. He nodded back. "Good. Now, look out for hybrids, keep an eye on your six, and try not to get lost. Radio me when you're done," he reminded them.

They set off, and Sheppard was glad to see there had been no pissing contests as to who was the fastest teams. At least, none that he had heard. He himself, surrounded by another three men, including Benji, got the next closest emitter on the way to the chair room. Mainly because that was where Sheppard had to go next.

God he was tired.

Nevertheless, he took off at a run, having to pause only once as they came across a group of five hybrids attempting to sabotage something they obviously thought was important but was really only the entrance to a now abandoned lab that had once been the home to various geoscientists in Sheppard's time. Still, never hurt to kill some of the enemy. Gave Goldman less chance to get himself killed.

They made it to the next emitter within five minutes, and while the three men watched the three entrances to this particular section of the wide hallway rooms, he played with the shield emitter tray and replaced another shield crystal with the vaporizer.

Done, he tapped the man watching their six on the shoulder and took the lead on the route to the chair room, tapping into his radio to check how Collins was faring.

"We're holding, sir!" the man yelled over a burst of sparks. "The Genii have lost one ship, but the Natoshian weapons are working well. And all fire is concentrated on us."

Sheppard nodded as he rounded a corner, though Collins couldn't see it, and then ducked back around, grabbing Benji as he tried to keep on going. A millisecond later a stunner blast filled the corridor they would have been walking down, and the Natoshian man got the idea that there were hybrids down there waiting for them. All without Sheppard having to utter a word.

Pulling at straps on the Olympian man's vest, Sheppard found what he was looking for: two round objects that someone had told him were grenades. Between commanding armadas of space ships, knocking sense into leaders and being the all round hero of this little shindig, he hadn't had time to grab his own. Which, thinking about that now, was probably a bad idea, because those vests afforded some protection, and hybrids were prone to carrying actual guns instead of stunners at the most inopportune of times.

Not thinking about that, or trying not to, Sheppard pulled the pin on both grenades with his teeth – his other hand taken up by the S-20 – and then threw them around the corner, jumping back and plugging his ears with his fingers.

The men with him had barely done the same before the explosion rocked the corridor and the shock wave tickled past them, barely affecting them where they crouched against the wall. Which was always a good thing.

Standing back up as the metaphorical smoke cleared, he plugged the downed hybrids with a few rounds of blasts from his S-20 before deciding they had waited here long enough and they needed to get to the chair room. Not that he didn't give the motionless bodies a few more holes for good measure. He had come across enough hybrids to know they were tough bastards.

Thankfully the chair room was just at the end of the next corridor, and they didn't run into any more hybrids. Nodding at the shaken guards who Goldman had put into position to make sure no hybrids 'modified' the weapons platform, Sheppard tossed his S-20 to Benji and slid into the chair.

The light came on all around him, and he had to remind the guards to pay attention to the corridor outside and not watch him with awe written all over their faces.

And then he had to wait.

His heart raced, and he found his foot tapping with impatience. He had never been good with the whole waiting thing, especially not when there were still seven good ships up there fighting a losing battle as a distraction so Atlantis could survive.

And then the final call came in, Chayal's voice sounding over the radio. "The last of our crystals has been put into place," she told him, and Sheppard heaved a sigh of relief, tapping into subspace communications.

"Collins, return home now," he ordered, as he drew on the drones from deep within the city and prepared to fire them. "All ships, return to Atlantis! The shield is ready!"

He received six replies of confirmation, and then Kate's voice from the control room told him that the six surviving ships were retreating from the battle with all possible haste.

And that was when his plan went to the shit.

"Atlantis, this is Collins!" the man screamed over communications. "Michael is firing on the city. I repeat, Michael is firing on the city! Raise the shield proper now!"

Sheppard's breath caught, even as he let the drones loose, aimed for the nearest Hive ship. He needed to concentrate, and he managed it, somehow, even with the knowledge that what would be a final, swift blow was headed their way, and both Chayal's and Damora's voices in his ear screaming.

"We still have ships out there!" they screamed in unison. "Do not power up that shield!"

Sheppard had barely a split second to make one of the toughest decisions of his life. He knew which choice he had to make, had given the same argument to Chayal and Damora barely twenty minutes ago. Knew that the survival of not only Atlantis, but both Pegasus and Olympus, rested on it.

Knew that he was leaving the good men and women of six ships to fend for themselves against an unstoppable army. Knew the decision would plague him for whatever remained of his life.

Knew he would never make a different decision. Knew he couldn't.

"Power up the shield!"

* * *

I'm kind of curious… how does everyone think I will end this story? I'd like to know, before the end really starts heating up...


	25. Chapter 25: Epiphany

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to everyone who' reviewed. Those who told me what they think will happen... I'm not going to say if you're right or wrong, but thanks anyway! And I hope you like the bits you are wrong in despite that fact!

Here's the next chapter...

* * *

**Chapter 25: Epiphany**

Via the chair Sheppard knew when the shield's adjustments took over, knew when Michael's combined firepower struck the very centre of the hemisphere protecting the city. He didn't even need the violent shudder to tell him that their… his plan hadn't destroyed them all.

But had possibly destroyed the lives of nearly three hundred and fifty men and women who had only been out there in those ships under his orders.

Swallowing, and ignoring Chayal's and Damora's threats, he contacted the ships now cut off from Atlantis. He knew he couldn't waste time.

"This is Colonel Sheppard. There is a planet maybe ten hours from here at maximum sub-light for your ships. Get there if you don't have your hyperdrives," he looked down and then used the chair to send them the coordinates. "Michael will stay here. He'll only send a ship or two after you, which you should be able to manage. Repair what needs to be repaired and then rendezvous at the coordinates I'm sending you now." He sent them the coordinates to a planet he hoped Michael didn't have control of. "We'll contact you there in twenty-four hours. Atlantis out."

He sat up and got out of the chair, feeling tired and heavy. Taking his S-20 wearily back from Benji, he contacted Kate. "Tell me what's happening."

She sounded shaken. "The shield modifications worked. No more darts are getting through. And gunners have just taken down the last one within our shields. Our ships managed to destroy another seven of Michael's Hives. We lost two, one Genii, one Natoshian. The rest are retreating to that planet. Michael's letting them."

Sheppard sighed and let Chayal's brother take point, feeling distracted and distant. Plus, he didn't really need Kate's next little snippet of information. "Power consumption is still rising," she told him. "I think the new components use more."

It figured. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Sheppard thanked her and turned to the next thing he had to do. "Fairfield, Chayal, Damora. Meet me back in the control room. The rest of the shield teams, you're on hybrid hunting duty."

He was slightly surprised when no one vetoed those orders, but didn't say anything. He just made his way back to the control room, meeting up with Fairfield on the way. The man looked sick, but he nodded as he saw Sheppard.

"You did what you had to do," the man began, before the pilot cut him off with a sharp glare. Neither of them said anything more until they reached the control room.

Both Chayal and Damora were there waiting for him, and they both turned on him the minute the spotted him.

"You had no right to do that!" Damora began, that natural leadership slipping slightly in Sheppard's eyes. "Our ships were still out there! Still under attack. You had no right to leave them there to die!"

Sheppard's temper flared, the result of a long day, no sleep and the feeling that he really had let them down. But he knew realistically that he had had no other choice, and in the end, reality won.

"So you're second-guessing me now?" he demanded. "Where were you when we were putting this plan together? You were right there with me! Would you have forfeited every single one of our lives in the hope that Michael's sheer firepower wouldn't blow this entire _planet _to hell before our ships could make it back behind the shields?"

"They are not _your_ ships, Colonel," Chayal reminded him coldly, the words cutting him deep. Her eyes were slits, angry and bitter, and Sheppard was finally beginning to lose the vision of Teyla every time he looked at her.

"You know what?" he hissed. "They're not. They're not my ships, not my people, not even my friends or family, or anyone I know! You think I don't know that? You think I don't remember that tiny, little fact every time I even look at one of you!"

His gaze swept over Damora and Fairfield, over Kate, and the various other technicians watching him yell. "I know they're not my ships! But I have still put my life on the line for them! I've been inches from dying just because I still fight for _your_ people, for _your freedom_ from Michael and his hybrids. And what do you do? You lose control every time something happens that you don't expect, every time your screwed up fantasies of this city, _and me_, don't go just how you might expect them! You dare stand there and verbally slap me in the face just because I managed to keep my head and come up with a plan to save your lives, and those of your people. Not my people, as you reminded me. Your people!"

He took a deep breath, trying to keep control. "You have no right!" he snarled. "I am not here by choice. I didn't ask to be sent 50,000 years into a future where everything that ever mattered to me is a myth. But I'm still fighting for you. If you don't like how I do it, then grow a set. And come up with ideas yourself. But don't you dare speak to me as if I don't care about your people ever again."

He turned away from them, leaving the two natives properly ashamed, and moved towards Kate, who quickly bent over her computer so as to pretend she hadn't been watching. He let her. He didn't care about that. He couldn't bring himself to. He was far too tired.

"Show me power consumption," he ordered her softly, losing his temper. She nodded, giving him a quick look before tapping away on her computer. The graphs and data came up almost instantly.

He groaned, and then shook his head, before standing up straight as Fairfield joined them. Chayal and Damora remained where they were, speaking softly to each other. "What is it?" Fairfield asked, his pitying voice betraying the composure of his face. Sheppard just ignored it.

"It's our power consumption," he told the man, loud enough to be heard. Both Chayal and Damora stopped their conversation and looked over, distracted by the words. With a glance at each other, they joined Sheppard and Fairfield.

"What about it?" the Olympian asked, and Sheppard shook his head.

"It's rising," he explained. "The vaporizer that Chayal so kindly offered is working at keeping the darts out, but it requires a much greater use of power. And this city isn't as energy conservative as she used to be. Back then, those three ZPMs would have been able to hold this shield for years."

"And now?" Chayal asked, her tone careful. It was obvious she didn't want to upset him again.

He sighed, feeling old and drained and sad. "And now… its will be days. Especially seeing the other systems we have to use to eliminate the threat of the hybrids who managed to beam in, and to scrub the air, life support, etcetera. And taking into account the non-stop blows on the shield and the fact that it's holding back lethal radiation from the dying sun and the fact that this city, no matter who her makers were, was not designed to last forever."

"But days?" Chayal asked, her face pale. "This is the city of the Ancestors. Surely it will last longer!"

Sheppard shook his head and at her computer, Kate joined in. "He's right," she told them. "The power's not going to last much longer. Four days. Five at the most."

Seeing their disbelief was unwavering, Sheppard shook his head again. "This city is old," he told them gently. "So very old, you wouldn't believe it. She was already more than 10 million years old when I first arrived 50,000 years ago." He looked around the room, and up at the wall, as if he could hear the city whispering to him. "She's worn out and tired," he told them returning his gaze to his fellow humans. "She doesn't run like she used to. I told you earlier, Chayal. She is nothing compared to what she used to be. And she just doesn't seem to care anymore."

Fairfield studied him as the two natives dropped their heads in grief. Sheppard ignored the stare and sighed. "We can't stay here," he told them, putting up a hand to stop any rebuttal before it left any mouths. "This city isn't going to last much longer. And for that I will be sad. But if we don't leave, than all really will be lost. If Michael kills us, then you can kiss your people goodbye."

"But this is the city of the Ancestors," Damora told him, sharing a horrified look with Chayal. "You cannot leave it to be used by Michael, of all people."

Sheppard looked at him grimly. "I don't intend to, Damora. I intend to destroy this city before Michael even has a chance."

"Destroy it?" Chayal gasped, and Sheppard remembered Halling having a similar reaction when confronted with the plan to end the Ancient city. "That is… that is sacrilege!"

"Trust me, I've heard that before," Sheppard told her dryly. "But would you rather Michael gain intimate knowledge of your Ancestors, knowledge on advanced weapons and power sources, shields, not to mention the stardrive? All of which he will use to end everything you know. You think you have it bad now? Hiding from and fearing Michael's hybrids and what they will do if they realize you're still around? Imagine what it will be like when he has the knowledge of the Ancestors at his fingertips. He will destroy humanity for good."

They seemed to get it, though neither seemed pleased about. They shared another of those looks that Sheppard was beginning to find infuriating. Couldn't they make their minds up separately?

"Then we must evacuate," Damora accepted. "Though the how is a major question, considering our ships are, regrettably, on their way to the other side of the solar system."

"I know," Sheppard told them. "But if they stay there or go to the rendezvous site when their ships are repaired, they are still only a day away. At most. If we can't dial out before power becomes critical, then we can always call them back. It will be a lot trickier that way, but we can do it."

They all looked down to where the gate remained active, the shield up. Fairfield shook his head. "We keep on trying, but whoever's on the other end is fast. We haven't been able to dial out before they dial back in."

Sheppard nodded. "Michael's annoying like that," he allowed, sitting down and rubbing his face. "Kate, do you think you've learned enough about Ancient tech to speed up the dialling process?"

She nodded, but was unhappy about something. She soon told him what that was, and then he was unhappy about it. "I can," she admitted. "But it will use more power. And if the attempt is a failure, then…"

"Then we lose more power, I know," Sheppard told her. He looked to Fairfield for confirmation. The man nodded. "Do it," the pilot ordered. "Speed it up as much as you can."

He stood up, swaying slightly with exhaustion. Fairfield moved quickly and caught his arm before he fell. Not that he was going to or anything. He looked up and yanked his arm out of the Olympian's grip.

"Sheppard, you need to rest," Fairfield realized. "You're dead on your feet."

"I can rest when we're out of here," he snapped, walking away to prove his point. "Now, however, we still have a bunch of hybrids in our city and I bet they're making Goldman's life hell."

He tapped his radio, deciding he needed to check in on the man, seeing as how they hadn't heard from him in a while. "Goldman, it's Sheppard. What's the count?"

The answer came instantly, but it was hushed. "We're all here, somehow. Most of us have a bleeding something, but it's nothing life threatening." The man paused for a moment. "We've taken out a hell of a lot of hybrids though. How many more are there?"

"Hang on and I'll let you know." Sheppard turned to the nearest technician, who's name he couldn't remember. Didn't have a thing on Chuck though. "Pull up city sensors," he ordered. A moment later the screen he was standing in front of flickered into life, and he winced. Partly for the drain on power this was about to be, and partly because there were far too many off-coloured dots for his liking. He contacted Goldman again.

"You sure you want to know how many hybrids are left?" he asked.

"That many, huh?" Goldman returned, sighing. "So how long am I going to be out here, hunting down these suckers?"

"A while yet," Sheppard admitted. "But it's about to get easier. I'll get someone to talk you and the other hybrid hunters I've got out there through finding them. That way you don't have to search for a needle in a haystack. I'll contact you a little later, see how you're faring."

He turned to the technician, and told him to contact the teams and walk them through finding the hybrids. At least now they shouldn't get any surprises. He turned back to Fairfield.

"How long until we can try dialling out again?" he asked, and Fairfield looked at a third technician to check.

She turned to Sheppard, who recognised her as the woman who had been on duty when Michael first showed up on the scanners. Now that seemed like a lifetime ago. "Twelve minutes, sir," she told him. "But the speed up won't be ready by then."

Sheppard nodded. "Try dialling out anyway. And use the address of the planet where the ships are going. That way you can all meet up."

"And if it's one of Michael's planets?" Damora asked. It was a fair question, but Sheppard just shook his head, smiling at memory.

"It isn't," he told the man. "And if it is, it won't matter, because when you take the ZPM there, you'll be able to get this awesome electromagnetic shield thing working and you'll be protected. All of Michael's worlds will be skeleton crew only. Most of them will be here or in Olympus. With numbers, you'll be able to take them out." Hell, maybe some of the kids' descendents were still alive.

He looked around and wondered what he had forgotten to do. But there didn't seem to be anything, and he took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes again. When he opened them, Fairfield was standing by his elbow, and Sheppard jumped.

"Jesus, ever hear of personal space?" the pilot demanded grumpily. Fairfield shook his head and tapped his own radio.

"Webb, I need you in the control room," the Olympian ordered and Sheppard growled, taking a step back.

"I don't need the doctor," Sheppard told him. "I don't need to sleep. I need to stop Michael from destroying you all and from bringing yet another galaxy to the brink of extinction. Or beyond," he added, feeling a now familiar twinge in his stomach as he thought about Earth.

"I don't care what you think you need. You're swaying where you stand," Fairfield told him. "Webb's checking you out. And, if he orders it, you're taking a nap."

"And who's going to make me?" Sheppard snapped. "And where exactly am I going to do it? Nice sentiment, Fairfield, but we've got hybrids crawling all over this city, _and_ Michael's still waiting to blow us all up."

And then Webb appeared, and Sheppard groaned, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere with any arguments. Saying nothing more, he went with the doctor to sit in Fairfield's office and allow himself to be checked over.

When he realized that sitting down was the sweetest thing in the world, he began to think maybe Fairfield was right. Okay, he had already known that, really. But the truth really was that he couldn't rest. Not yet. Not now. Not even injured.

"When was the last time you even slept?" Webb demanded, shining a light into Sheppard's eyes. The pilot growled: 50,000 years and they hadn't even managed to come up with a better way than stabbing eyes with light.

"I don't know, doc," he admitted. "Before Michael arrived. Probably before Chayal's ships turned up."

The man gave a slight growl. "You're still healing, Sheppard," Webb accused. "You're meant to be resting and letting your body do what it needs to do."

"I need all of me to do what I need it to do, Webb," the pilot told him dryly. "Else this city wouldn't be here. Remember."

"I do," Webb answered shortly. "I also remember practically sewing you back together when you arrived back here after escaping Michael." He shook his head. "I know you're tired-."

"You have no idea, doc," Sheppard told him before he even knew what he was doing. "I'm exhausted. I don't think I've ever felt so bone-weary in my life. Which is strange, cause I've had plenty of rough days all in a row before, without much sleep and while doing the same, probably more running about saving people's lives."

He looked up at Webb, a little frightened. "I feel like this city," he admitted softly. "Just old and tired. Sick of it all. I miss everyone and everything I knew. I feel like if I could just get back to it, everything would be fine, but I can't, and it hurts like hell. And that hurt has been constant every moment I've been here and now, and it's taking its toll."

He licked his lips and looked away, shaking his head, deep in thought. So deep, he couldn't even see Webb's pity and sadness. He didn't even see it when he looked back and stared into the man's eyes.

"Sorry doc," he told Webb, not really seeing him. "But the check up is over." And he pushed the man's hands away and stood up, moving back out into the control room to where Fairfield stood talking with Damora and Chayal.

"I've got an idea," he told them softly. "But you're not going to like it."


	26. Chapter 26: Thirtyeight Minutes

**Author's Note:** Wow, we are so close to the end now! This is the fourth last chapter people! Hope you like it!

* * *

**Chapter 26: Thirty-eight Minutes**

"I don't like it."

Fairfield looked to Damora and Chayal for support, but they both looked a little stunned by the audacity of what Sheppard was proposing. The pilot shrugged in response, his smile a little sad.

"I told you that you wouldn't."

Fairfield got up and started pacing. "Sheppard, what you're proposing… it's… stupid, and rash, and suicidal."

"And nothing that I wouldn't have done in my own time," Sheppard told him, sliding off the edge of the table in the conference room. As soon as the pilot had told him he wouldn't like what he was about to hear, Fairfield had demanded they take it to this room to be in private. "And I'm the only one who can do it now. The only one who should."

"John…" Fairfield began, calling him by his first name for the first time ever. The Olympian shook his head, trying to deny the whole plan. "Why?"

John smiled. "I've told you already, Fairfield." He didn't want to go through it again.

"There's got to be more to it."

Leaning back, Sheppard shrugged, guessing more of the truth wouldn't hurt him. "Because Rodney spent his whole life trying to get me back so I could help them stop Michael," he told the man. "And it didn't work. By some freak accident, it didn't work." His stance softened and he sighed. "But maybe, just maybe, if I can stop Michael, here and now, then Rodney's sacrifice will have been worth it. I can't change the past, but maybe, just maybe, I can change the future."

Fairfield shook his head again. "I think I've heard that speech before," he muttered with a grin. A grin that quickly disappeared. "But I still don't like it."

Sheppard took his turn to shake his head. "You don't have to. You just have to accept that I'm doing it."

Swallowing audibly, the Olympian leader turned to the two natives. "What do you think?" he asked them, before slumping back into his chair.

Chayal looked at Sheppard, some understanding in her eyes. "I think if you wish to take this chance, Colonel Sheppard… then only you can make that decision. I will support you, if that is what you wish."

Fairfield made a noise in the back of his throat, but Sheppard nodded his thanks and turned to Damora. The Genii leader sighed.

"I think you're plan is foolish. Brave, but foolish." As Sheppard went to argue, the big man put his hand up. "However, if half the stories I have heard of you is true, than you can pull off foolish. Just be sure you are willing to do it."

Sheppard nodded instantly. "I'm willing," he told them without hesitation, some relief blossoming in his stomach. "I am more than willing."

They all shifted uncomfortably at the spoken sentiment, but Fairfield covered it with leaning forward. "Of course, it all hinges on getting the gate dialled out."

Sheppard frowned. "I think it hinges on a lot more than that," he told the man, moving around the bench to sit at his seat. "But I trust your scientist. She seems almost as good as McKay."

Fairfield grinned. "She should," he told Sheppard. "She's a direct descendent of his sister."

Sheppard's jaw dropped. "And you're telling me this now?" he demanded. Then he shook his head. "It's been 50,000 years. How do you even know that?"

"When you possess that kind of lineage, your family tends not to forget," Fairfield told him before standing up. "But we should see how she's doing."

They all stood up with him, Sheppard ignoring the sad looks he was getting from Chayal. Again, like Teyla, but he wouldn't soon forget Chayal's vicious barbs from earlier.

Webb was still hanging around the control room, and he looked firmly at Sheppard as if staring would make the stubborn colonel do as he was told. Sheppard ignored that too, and followed the others over to where Kate was typing furiously on her keyboard, taking time out only to check something on the Ancient console.

"How's it going?" Fairfield asked, leaning over Kate's shoulder while Sheppard tried to spot any similarities between her and Rodney. Finding none, he tried Jeannie, Rodney's sister. When that didn't happen, he withheld a sigh, once again reminded of just how much time had passed.

"Not sure," Kate muttered, still typing away on her computer. "We tried dialling out five minutes ago, while you were having your meeting or whatever, so we've got another thirty-three minutes until next time. But I don't think I'll have this ready before then. Maybe the next one."

Fairfield nodded, and looked up at Sheppard. "An hour. That suit you?"

Sheppard scowled at him. "The time doesn't bother me," he told the man. "But the thirty-eight minute window to carry out this whole plan is another of those hinges you forgot about."

"So you have a plan?" Kate asked, sparing them all a look. "If all four of you took twenty minutes to figure it out, it ought to be good."

"Good's relative," Fairfield muttered, glancing at Sheppard. "It involves-."

John cut him off there. "It doesn't matter what it involves. Only thing that matters is that it is good, and it should work."

Fairfield gave him the tiniest of glares while Kate frowned between them. "If it's some big secret then, don't worry," she muttered, turning back to her computer. "I'll just do what needs to be done and figure it out on the way."

Still ignoring Fairfield's glare, Sheppard moved to the city sensors, happy to notice how many odd-coloured dots had disappeared. He tapped his radio. "Goldman, not bad. Cut them in half."

"Just half?" Goldman demanded. "Feels like we've killed dozens!"

Sheppard shrugged. "It's still half," he pointed out. He looked around to Fairfield, who sighed and looked away. "Just so you know, we've got a plan."

"You've got a plan to kill all these hybrids so I don't have to?" came the answering question, and Sheppard couldn't help but grin. He couldn't help but like the man. Reminded him of Lorne in some ways.

"Not quite. But we've got a plan to escape and hopefully destroy Michael's fleet in the process."

There was a pause. "Oh. Well, I'll guess that'll do. In the meantime, mind telling me where the next lot of hybrids is?"

The next hour passed slowly for Sheppard, as he helped out the various teams hunting down hybrids, all the while casting looks over his shoulder to see how Kate was faring.

Though every time he did, he caught Fairfield looking at him with that sad, pitying stare. And it was getting harder to ignore it.

He knew what his plan meant. He knew the odds for survival. But he never had been one for odds. He was doing this, even if it was the last thing he did.

The hour passed in silence, a silence growing in anxiety and discomfort as the clock ticked nearer to the next chance to dial out. Kate's typing sped up with startling ferocity, and John found less and less hybrids for Goldman and the others to kill.

"Three minutes," one of the technicians suddenly said, just as Kate took a deep breath and sat back, closing her eyes.

"It's done," she told them, rubbing her back. "I've made the dial out sequence as fast as I possibly can." She shook her head. "Just in time, too, I guess."

Sheppard nodded and contacted the teams throughout Atlantis. "We're going to try dialling out in two and a half minutes," he told them. "If it works, Goldman, I need you to move to the power room. All other hunting teams, get your asses back to the gate for evacuation. Teams on guard, except those guarding the ZPMs, shut the doors and blow the panel that opens it, _except_ for the team at the chair room. I need you to remove the front of the panel and bring me back the central crystal. Everyone got that?"

There came back various affirmations, and Sheppard turned, taking a deep breath. "How long?" he asked Kate, who took a quick look at her computer.

"Minute and a half," she told him. She nodded at the technician by the DHD. "Get ready."

The man held his fingers poised over the console, and the room waited in tense silence, barely daring to breath loudly. The clock ticked down.

"One minute," Kate muttered, eyes on her computer screen. John took a deep breath, nervous as all hell, hoping that this would work. The clock ticked down.

"Thirty seconds."

Licking his lips, Sheppard moved to the balcony overlooking the active gate, staring down at it, one ear tuned in to the goings on of the control room and its occupants. The clock ticked down.

"Twenty seconds."

He barely even looked behind him as Kate continued the countdown, the fingers over the first part of the address quivering with nervousness and expectation. John turned back to the Gate, watching the blue event horizon while holding his breath.

"Ten. Nine. Eight…" Kate looked up at Fairfield as she counted down. "Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three."

_Two…_ Sheppard muttered in his head, leaning forward, grip tight on the rail. _One._

The Stargate shut down, and the technician didn't even need everyone's shout of "Dial!" to begin the command, fingers flashing fast over the DHD to get in before Michael managed to dial back.

Time seemed to stretch, and Sheppard watched the great portal's ring light up, slow, and then faster, faster, though he was sure it was going to still be far too slow…

And then the last point locked into place, the vortex whooshed out and the Gate locked onto the one far away across the galaxy.

They all heaved a collective sigh of relief, and John turned to them, grinning with triumph as he tapped his radio. "All teams, we have established a connection. We have thirty-eight minutes to evacuate this entire city. Get a move on."

People started moving from below, towards the event horizon, just as Fairfield had ordered. As agreed, Chayal nodded and moved to assist, her and a small team moving through the milling crowd so they could be the first ones through. Someone needed to check it out, and be there to welcome the evacuees.

Sheppard turned to Fairfield. "We need to get you your ZPMs," he told the man. "Damora, can you handle the evacuation this end?"

The big man nodded, and moved down the steps to join the crowd. Taking an S-20 each, Sheppard and Fairfield nodded at the men waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, a strike force consisting of four Olympian, Natoshian and Genii warriors. The best soldiers each society had to offer for an important mission.

"You all know what the objective is," Sheppard called out from the vantage point on the third bottom step. "And you all know that there are still thirty or so hybrids wandering around this city. Keep your eyes peeled, and watch out for our own men. Let's move out!"

He took the lead, moving through the team with confidence. And if he had closed his eyes he could easily have imagined he was walking through a team of his own men, of his own people, his friends all around him.

But he didn't close his eyes, and they weren't his people, but for the moment it didn't matter, because he still had a job to do. And, nodding at Fairfield, he prepared to do it.

They left the gate room at a quick jog, the crowd parting for them as they moved out. The civilian-like contingent watched them leave with wide mouths before moving on once more to the gate and safety.

Out in the corridors there were no people, at least, not initially. Sheppard and his team passed various groups returning from hybrid hunting and guard duty, and those men and women were quickly told to help Damora get people through the Stargate in a calm and orderly fashion. And to be fast about it. But Sheppard didn't let them stop, checking his watch every so often to make sure they weren't running out of time.

Thirty-five minutes.

A small team of five approached them, and as the leader spotted Sheppard, he made a beeline for the pilot. Sensing he should pause, John did so, allowing the Olympian to come to him.

The man was holding out a crystal, and Sheppard realized these were the men who had been guarding the chair room. Nodding his thanks, John told them what he had told the others. Get to the Gate and get off this world. As he watched them disappear the way he had come, he pocketed the crystal in a safe place on his borrowed vest before moving on.

Thirty minutes.

They heard the gunfire before they got within fifty metres of the room from which the ZPMs powered the entire city. Cursing, Sheppard hurried it up, gun aimed high, trying to slink around the corners so the hybrids wouldn't hear them coming up from behind. The men behind him copied his cautious movements and they managed to make it silently into the corridor leading up to the power distribution room.

To their credit, Goldman and his small team, shielded partially by the semi-closed Lantean doors, didn't even give their approach away. Some eyes widened, but the hybrids were too engrossed in firing their stunners at the men firing back at them to realize there was another group sneaking up from behind.

Giving a grin, Sheppard opened fire, and the five men with him copied him almost simultaneously. The back line of hybrids went down hard, blood seeping from wounds onto the once clean floor of Atlantis.

The remaining hybrids turned, but in their surprise, they didn't have a chance. Sheppard and his team practically ploughed into them, not even moving from their position a small distance down the hall as the hybrids dropped to the floor dead.

And then there were no more of Michael's creations left, the fifteen who had been trying to get to the ZPMs down and out. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard stood up straight, and nodded at Goldman as he emerged from the room.

"Nice timing," the Olympian called over the distance as the men with John moved forward to check the annoyingly resilient hybrids were really dead. Goldman began the same from his end, only looking up to share a grin with Sheppard as the pilot stayed where he was, thinking.

And then Goldman's grin disappeared, and he lifted his gun, shouting something that Sheppard didn't quite catch. The pilot got the gist though and he spun, gun coming up.

Only he hadn't had enough warning. He managed only a small glimpse of the hybrid coming at him from behind before the stunner blast hit his shoulder and he went spinning down to the ground.

* * *

Three more chapters to go!


	27. Chapter 27: Before I Sleep

**Chapter 27: Before I Sleep **

Sheppard hit the ground with a grunt, and then slid along into the wall, slamming into it hard enough to bruise. But, somehow, he was alive, and he was aware, and he hadn't been knocked out.

Though the hybrids seemed to think he had been, ignoring him as the fifteen of them dashed past in their attempts to tackle the rest of the humans.

Their speed however, did work, and only three fell to S-20 fire before the hybrids were upon their distant cousins.

Goldman had three men with him, all bruised and battered themselves. Combined with Sheppard's forces, that made ten, including the pilot. Against twelve. If it had been human on human, Sheppard wouldn't have had a problem.

But they all knew hybrids were superior to humans in strength and speed.

By the time he was on his feet it was eight against eleven. By the time he actually reached the battle it was seven to eleven. He planted a knife in one hybrid's back to make it an even ten.

As the one he had just killed dropped, spine now severed, another hybrid came at him. Sheppard ducked beneath the swinging fist, trying to avoid getting his head knocked off before he had a chance to complete his plan. Twirling the knife in his hand, and wishing he hadn't lost his S-20 somewhere, he lunged up and over the fallen hybrid between him and his attacker, and shoved the knife up under the creature's throat.

Yanking it out with a harsh cry, Sheppard stepped over the fallen pair and took a head count again. He was less than happy with the five to seven he ended up with.

Licking his lips he jumped over to where two hybrids were attacking Fairfield. He grabbed one by the shoulder, and ducked again as it swung around, arms up and out. What he hadn't counted on was the other hand coming around and smashing him in the side of the head as he stood back up.

He crashed into the wall, vision noticing two identical hybrids stalking towards him. Not sure which one was the real one and which one was a result of his doubled vision, Sheppard took an unsteady step forward and sliced the knife in an arc wide enough to encompass both.

The hybrid blocked, grabbing his arm in a strong grip, but by then Sheppard knew which was the one made of flesh and blood, his vision clearing. He quickly twisted the grip around his wrist, moving the knife deftly in his hand so that where he would normally grab his foe's own wrist, the knife instead planted itself in the tender tissue just above the hand.

The hybrid cried out and let go, unable to help himself after losing all feeling in his hand. Sheppard took the opportunity, pulling with the knife and creating an awful mess as he cut the hybrid's hand in two. After the thing didn't put up much of a fight, and then, somehow it was five to four.

Sheppard stood up straight, rotating his shoulder as he moved to help Goldman, who seemed in need of the help the most. John though, couldn't help but appreciate Fairfield's fighting style, seeing it for the first time. The man was good.

By the time the pilot reached Goldman though, the fight was over, and the ground was a mess of blood and bodies. Sheppard nodded at Fairfield as the man stepped back, not even breathing hard, and then frowned.

"I hit you how many times?" Sheppard demanded. "Why didn't you ever hit me back? You could easily have done it."

Fairfield shrugged as the both moved into the power room. "Didn't feel the need to. Besides, you caught me off guard both times."

Wondering if there was more to it – and deciding he would probably never find out – he moved to the console before the central station, and started tapping in the instructions Kate had given him. It wasn't hard and a second later two of the ZPMs rose from their holdings, leaving the entire city's power supply to a single Zero Point Module.

Sheppard nodded at two of the men, and they both stepped forward to grab the freed ZPMs, shutting them safely away in cases. John checked his watch.

"We've got twenty-three minutes before the Gate shuts down," he told everyone. "That's twenty-three minutes to get back to the gate, set the self-destruct and step on through."

Fairfield nodded, obviously not needing the reminder. "I know that as well as you do, Sheppard," the man snapped. "Come on, let's get back there."

The way back was less dramatic, though it was quite obvious that leaving their dead men laying there on the floor, bodies mixed in with the enemy hybrids, was a hard thing for Fairfield to do. He grabbed their tags, and looked up at Sheppard as they began the jog back.

"We don't forget our heroes," he told the pilot softly, and Sheppard nodded, understanding what the man was trying to do. It was crap, but he understood it.

By the time they made it back to the Gate room, nearly everyone had been evacuated, and the city was quiet, so quiet they were able to hear Michael's forces bombing the shield with their various weapons.

Damora was holding the gate open for them, surrounded by half a dozen men and women of the three societies who had come to Atlantis. He nodded as he spotted Fairfield and Sheppard, before turning to one of his own women and telling her to keep communication going.

The Genii leader trotted over to Fairfield and Sheppard were they paused at the bottom of the steps. Goldman led the other two men over to the Gate, glancing back at the three men on their own by the steps. The intel officer seemed to be getting an inkling of what was about to go down. No doubt he was the intel officer for a reason.

But Sheppard didn't see it, nodding at Damora as he approached the two of them. The big man held his hand out for Sheppard to shake, and the colonel took it, gripping it firmly.

"I cannot believe you are about to attempt what you are about to attempt," Damora told him with a shake of his head. "But may the Ancestors be with you in your trials. And, on behalf of both my own and Chayal's people… thank you."

Quite touched, Sheppard nodded slowly. "Thank you for coming when I called," he told the man softly. "Without you and your ships, we wouldn't be here. Now you better get going."

The Genii leader saluted him, a fair imitation of the one Sheppard's own air force used, and John nodded his appreciation. Then, Damora turned and left, walking through the Stargate without any qualms or glances back. His men, and those of Natosh, went with him, leaving just Goldman and three Olympians standing by the Gate.

Fairfield turned to Sheppard, his face sad. "My offer still stands," he told the pilot. "You would be welcome amongst my own people."

Sheppard nodded. "I know. But my place is here, Daniel. It always has been."

Shaking his head, Fairfield began up the stairs. Sheppard followed. "No one would think any less of you, if you didn't want to still do this," the Olympian leader continued, a last-ditch attempt at talking a myth out of his plan.

"No," Sheppard told him as they approached the now abandoned consoles, and the one single Olympus computer remaining. "I need to do this. I can't… Michael cannot be allowed to have this city."

Taking a deep breath, Fairfield bent over and typed in his code for the self-destruct. Apparently it had been the first thing his people had rigged up when they had come to Atlantis. It had been nice to see that some things never changed.

A second later, the countdown began, but Sheppard leaned over and turned the alarm off, setting his watch instead. Fairfield stood up straight, and quite obviously didn't meet John's eye.

"Well, good luck," the Olympian muttered, holding out his hand for Sheppard to shake. "I can't believe you're about to do this. But I guess… I guess I understand."

Sheppard nodded. "I'm glad. Good luck yourself, I guess. And thank you. If it hadn't been for you and your people, I would have slept the ages away. I guess I can be grateful that at least this way… I can still do some good."

"You've already done good," Fairfield snapped without reservation. "Don't underestimate what you did for your own people when you had the chance. And what you were prepared to do for them. What you're prepared to do for my own people." He shook his head. "You're a good man, John Sheppard. Well deserving of the legend my people know you as."

And he turned and left a grimacing colonel on the balcony overlooking the still active Stargate, looking back only to wave goodbye as he descended the steps towards the shimmering blue puddle.

Goldman looked up at Sheppard and then at his leader, moving towards Fairfield as he walked to the Stargate. Before he could walk past though, Fairfield grabbed Goldman's arm and pushed him back towards the event horizon.

"What the hell is going on?" Goldman demanded, looking up at the unmoving Sheppard again. "What are you doing? And what the hell is he doing?"

"He's staying," Fairfield muttered gruffly, heart clenching at the loss. He hadn't known the man long, but he would be missed.

"What?" Goldman demanded, moving to go back and get the man. "He's what? No, it's suici…"

He trailed off as he got it, and Fairfield took the opportunity to push him through the event horizon.

And once again John Sheppard was alone in Atlantis.

The stillness was shattered only by the blasts from above, the city quiet and sad as the Stargate shut down, leaving him cut off from everyone and everything that still existed. With the shield above, and the remaining energy in the ZPM needed for the rest of his plan, John knew now that there was no way he wasn't going to be carrying out his plan. But for the first time since Fairfield and his expedition had woken him, Sheppard felt… right. He was and would be the last person to ever set foot on Atlantis, but it felt right. He was finally alone.

Or at least he hoped so. Hopefully that last group of hybrids they had killed were the last ones remaining in his city. He returned to the city sensors, wondering just how alone he really was.

Not so much, as he found out.

There were still five, no, make that six little dots patrolling various halls and corridors in his city, but he could tell they were hybrids. And four of them wouldn't matter as soon as he had done what he needed to do here.

Sheppard turned to the Ancient controls, and, pulling on memory, started shutting down systems. Any secondary systems, as well as a few of the primary, such as long rang scanners and subspace communications, he turned off, letting them rest, and he felt the city power down all around him.

Lights flickered on and off, finally settling on off, leaving him only a few so he could make his way. The dim lighting seemed appropriate, and it wasn't like he needed anything brighter.

Taking a quick look at city sensors, he moved onto another console, ignoring the Olympian computer sitting on it, counting down the self-destruct. He didn't look at the timer, just instructed the computer to shut down all life support except for the route to the chair room and the central spire.

Sheppard faintly heard doors slamming shut all over the city, effectively locking out four of the hybrids still remaining in the city. Not that they would survive for long. Either lack of oxygen or the explosions caused by the self-destruct would kill them.

Which left two for him to deal with, two that he studied before he turned off city sensors as well. One patrolled a nearby hallway, somehow having snuck around Sheppard's hybrid hunters and managing to make itself a pain in his ass.

The other though, was of more concern. It paced, obviously angry even watching it over the sensors, just before the locked doors to the chair room. Checking his vest pocket, touching the door crystal for some reassurance, Sheppard knew he would have to take care of it before he could carry out his plan.

But that was still a way off, and he could always hope that it decided to leave before he got there, once it figured out it was never going to be able to get inside and do whatever it had been instructed to do.

Powering down those sensors as well, Sheppard took two steps back, watching the controls around him flicker out. He gave a sad smile, that feeling of full circle and slight déjà vu hitting him as he walked out. He had been around to witness the rebirth of Atlantis, and for that he would always be grateful. And now, though incredibly less grateful for the chance, he would witness the end.

He grabbed the S-20, and looked at it, before nodding determinedly. This was it. He smiled in an overwhelming mix of sadness and relief, of grief and longing, guilt and exhaustion.

This was it.

Just one last thing to do.

He moved outside onto the balcony, reaching into a pocket to pull out the tiny crystal Rodney's hologram had given him. He moved towards the railing, sadness and guilt, and grief all tugging at his heart. And there, at those rails that he had spent so much time at before, he held out his hand, palm up with the crystal flat on it. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned his hand over, the once priceless information sliding from his palm to slip into the chasm between the great buildings of Atlantis.

He didn't stay to hear the crystal shatter in the silent city.

He jogged down the stairs, checking his watch and noticing how much time he had left. He had plenty of time, barring nothing going wrong, of course.

Then again, he never had been one for slick operations.

He paused before the area he had noticed the first hybrid in, the dim lighting hiding him somewhat from it. He moved silently, and so it never noticed his approach, not until it was too late. Not wanting the other hybrid to hear him, he pulled out the latest trusty knife he had gathered and snuck up behind it.

Grabbing its jaw, and covering its mouth, he stuck the knife deep into the hybrid's chest, slicing across and opening its lungs to the world. It was dead before he lowered it gently to the ground.

One down, one to go.

He ran on, checking his watch again. Ten minutes. He didn't really need to run, but some of that urgency he always seemed to feel – especially of late – hurried him on, and he ran nevertheless.

Besides the whole running thing felt good. Like it was early morning, and he could hear the waves crashing on the piers, the city waking up all around him, and he was just out keeping fit. Not like he was saving a galaxy that didn't even belong to him anymore.

He slowed before he reached the second last corner to the chair room, moving slower now, S-20 up. His borrowed boots made no noise on the hard ground of Atlantis, and he could almost believe that city, knowing that he was about to help her rest, was aiding him in any way she could. Almost.

He paused at the last corner and looked around, trying to find the waiting hybrid before the door barely twenty feet down the corridor.

Only he couldn't even see it. With the dim light, he should have been able to. Maybe it had left, frustrated beyond caring about this one locked door. He went to move out.

"I knew you would come here."

Shepard spun, gun up, to aim behind him, gut sinking as the biggest thing that could go wrong, went wrong. Because standing there, obviously waiting for him was…

"Michael."

* * *

Now what do you think will happen?

Only two chapters to go!


	28. Chapter 28: Vengeance

**Author's Note:** And now for the show down that we've all been waiting for!

* * *

**Chapter 28: Vengeance**

The ex-Wraith smiled at him, though in the dim lighting of a dying Atlantis, the smirk looked much deeper and infinitely more evil.

"As you so aptly named me," Michael sneered at Sheppard, glancing once at the pilot's weapon with something close to amusement. "Are you going to shoot me, Sheppard?"

The man shrugged. "Was thinking about it," he admitted, eye and aim carefully trained on the thing's head. "Thought it might solve a lot of my problems."

"Well, on that we agree," Michael told him, taking a step forward. Sheppard took a step back, and the half-human grinned. "If I wanted to kill you, Sheppard, I would have."

"Like you don't want to kill me," the colonel spat, shifting slightly. He didn't have time for this. Not really. "I bet you want to kill me almost as much as I want to kill you."

Michael's grin changed like a flash into something more sinister and far darker. "It is true that I would settle for killing. But I would much rather make you suffer!"

"See, now we're getting to the truth," Sheppard told him, beginning to wonder why he wasn't shooting. "And the truth is, you are _not_ touching me. I'm through. I'm not playing your games anymore. I'm going to kill you and your hybrids. And there's _nothing_ you can do about it."

"On the contrary," Michael told him. "There is plenty I can do. I may look more human, Sheppard. But I have lost none of my Wraith speed and agility. You don't have a chance."

"We'll see about that," Sheppard snapped, losing patience, his finger shifting on the trigger. He should just pull it now, and make all that anger and pain go away.

"You're right," Michael agreed, shedding his long coat. "We will see."

Faster than Sheppard even thought was possible, Michael had lunged, covering the small distance between the two of them before the pilot even saw the ex-Wraith's muscles bunching up for the attack. He managed to get one round off before Michael had tackled him to the ground, knocking away the S-20 and pulling a fist back for a punch.

Sheppard rolled his head to the side, the fist just scraping the side of his head to slam into the hard floor, bringing a small howl from the half-man above him. Not about to let an opportunity go by, Sheppard punched out himself, knuckles connecting solidly with Michael's nose. Not done there, he lifted a knee and managed to throw the half-Wraith over his head. Then, slightly winded, he stumbled to his feet, holding his ribs and feeling a little light headed.

Michael, on the other hand, recovered faster.

He slammed into Sheppard once again, sending the pilot crashing into the wall, and coming in with a fist to his gut. John doubled over, only to find an off-coloured fist meeting his face hard enough to shove him backwards, and break open the skin across his eyebrow.

On the floor, Sheppard regained his wits only just quick enough to avoid the foot swinging at his ribs. Knowing if it connected, the strength of Michael's force would mean game over, the colonel swiftly rolled to the side, the foot missing him by inches. Using the momentum he had gained to roll to a stand, Sheppard backed away to regain the rest of his equilibrium.

Not that Michael gave him much time to do that. The ex-Wraith stormed at him the moment he realized his foot had missed, fists swinging. Sheppard ducked, just like he had before. And, just like before, he lashed out as he rose, connecting solidly with Michael's jaw, before following up with a knee to the groin and another fist to the nose.

Even the breaking cartilage didn't seem to faze Michael though, as he stumbled backwards, blood pouring from his nose, a mad look in his eyes. And Sheppard knew then that this really was it. Only one of them was walking away alive from this fight.

With that in mind, Sheppard pulled out his knife once more, swinging it loosely in his fist. Seeing him, Michael sneered, the blood and the darkness giving him a demonic glint, the knife he pulled out shining even in the dim light of Atlantis.

"If you insist," Michael snarled before rushing forward again.

Sheppard lunged back from the wild slashing of his foe, desperate not to get sliced in half. He also avoided the next thrust, stepping nimbly to the side and then wrapping the outstretched hand in his arm. Turning quickly, he flipped the knife in his hand and plunged it towards Michael's back.

But, as old as he looked, Michael was far from ageing. With a deftness belonging to a man half the age Sheppard felt, Michael pulled away, the knife sliding harmlessly through his clothes, before pulling the same trick on John and wrapping his arm within his own. Then, adding to the move, he bent forward quickly, pulling John back and over his head to slam against the floor.

Having expected none of it, the pilot had no choice but to follow, the wind knocked out of him as he crashed into the hard floor, ribs protesting at the sudden stop in movement.

He rolled over onto his back, heaving in air with a savage desperation. Michael appeared in his line of sight, just above him, and, still unable to breath properly, John snarled, before using his now sore stomach muscles to pull his feet up and kick Michael squarely in the head with both borrowed boots.

The ex-Wraith hadn't been expecting that. Payback was a bitch.

John followed through and rolled backwards to his feet, glad to find the knife still in his hand. He turned to find the creature coming at him, and lashed out with the only weapon he had.

Michael spun around it so fast that he was almost a blur, never missing a beat as he rolled around the outstretched knife. John could only watch in disbelief as a fist hit him in the side of the head as the ex-Wraith came back to face him. He bent over, the blow once again drawing blood.

With a roar, he stood back up straight, ploughing a right elbow into Michael's broken nose and eliciting a cry of pain as he further pounded broken bones. He followed it up with a left hook and a solid knee in the back. Then he spun back the opposite way and slammed a right fist into the half-man's eye.

Michael stumbled backwards and away, obviously getting mad now. Good. Because if he was mad he would make mistakes. Hopefully. Hopefully was always good.

John followed him, bringing the sharp end of his knife back around to face Michael as he moved in, preparing to sink it into the unsuspecting half-man's stomach.

He never got there. Moving incredibly fast once again, Michael stood up straight and reached out, grabbing Sheppard by the throat before he even realized his enemy had moved. The grip tight enough to crush, he grabbed involuntarily at the arm even as it lifted him into the air. He dropped the knife, unable to keep a hold, watching it sail uselessly to the ground. He kicked out but the ex-Wraith was unbreakable.

With a vicious sneer, Michael pulled him forward, and then threw him into the wall.

Sheppard hit it with enough force to make him bounce and then black out for a few seconds, but when he came to he was lying on the ground, and Michael was bending over him, ready to gloat. He didn't disappoint.

"How does it feel, Sheppard, to fail at avenging the deaths of all those people who counted on you?" the ex-Wraith demanded in a vicious, cold snarl. "To know that even now, even when you shouldn't have to care, you're facing defeat at the hands of the man who will destroy your people?"

Sheppard glared up at him, still too dazed to do any more that that. Michael chuckled, and Sheppard wondered how long until the self-destruct blew.

"You should have seen your friends, Sheppard," Michael told him, head twitching slightly at the pleasure of a memory. "Or at least, the ones whom I had the pleasure of killing, face to face. Now Teyla… she was sure, so sure you would rescue her."

The blow hurt more than the collision with the wall had, and Sheppard looked away, unable to take it. Michael continued, relentless.

"Even as I watched the life fade those beautiful, once-trusting eyes… she promised me that you would avenge her. Promised me a horrible, painful death once you found out what I had done…" Michael grabbed his jaw and looked the struggling pilot in the eye. "She didn't know, of course, that you had abandoned her."

_Get up…_

Something nagged at him, and Sheppard tried to look away, tried to close his eyes, tried to deny that voice. But Michael's grip on his jaw tightened and Sheppard couldn't help but let his eyes shoot open once more, looking up into those orbs of death.

_Get up and fight…_

"And then there was McKay…" Michael drawled. "I couldn't believe what he told me when I found him. 'Have fun because you'll only get to do this once.' I thought he was insane at the time. Defiant little bug he was…"

The verbal blows kept on coming, and Sheppard flinched inside with every word, trying not to hear them, willing Michael to just end it, and hoping that the self-destruct would be enough.

_Get up and fight, John…_

He could almost recognise that voice now. Or was it voices? He closed his eyes, uncaring that Michael nearly crushed his jaw in an attempt to get him to open them again. He wanted that voice, needed those voices near him, could feel them around him if he just tried…

_Get up and fight, John. Come on, you can do it…_

"Sheppard!" Michael's insistent voice broke through, and John opened his eyes to stare above into the malicious spheres above him. "You are not going to die on me before I have a chance to make you suffer!"

And to Michael's surprise, John smiled. "Tell me, Michael," he said, stressing the creature's nickname. "How did it feel to finally submit to that humanity inside you? Those human parts that me and my people put there?"

Michael snapped, and, with a wordless roar, punched. But Sheppard had been expecting it, and once again rolled to the side, very glad he had when the ex-Wraith made a dent in the floor. Trying not to think about it, Sheppard rolled away and managed to get to his feet, dancing out of the way as Michael came at him once again.

He kept out of the way, and bent over slightly, ready. "How does it feel, Michael, to have trapped yourself halfway between two peoples who hated you? Two peoples who despised you? Who abandoned you because you were too much like the other?"

Michael roared again, flicking his knife in his hands and lunging. Sheppard spun away, giving a small laugh, unable to help himself, and continued to taunt the man who had destroyed his world.

"Tell me, _Michael_," he demanded, light on his feet. "How did it feel, so lonely and sad? How did it feel to realize the only way you could be free from that was to become a hybrid of the two things you were beginning to hate the most in the entire galaxy?"

Again, Michael lunged, and again, Sheppard moved quickly enough to avoid being impaled. This time however, he ducked, and managed to scoop up his fallen knife before moving away, and out of reach.

"How does it feel, Sheppard," Michael demanded loudly. "To be the last of your kind? To be lonely and abandoned yourself? Do you feel kind of like me?"

Sheppard grinned. "No. I don't," he told it. "Because I know I always had people who cared about me. I know that even if I turned into my people's worst nightmare, I would still be welcome. Hell, I turned into a bug and my people fixed me, accepted me when I turned back. But you… You were abandoned by those you call family… How did it feel, Michael?"

He whispered that last question, but in the silence and darkness of Atlantis, Michael easily heard it. His eyes bulged, and he lunged forward. And the world seemed to fall into slow motion.

Michael came at him, and Sheppard let him, no, he moved forward himself, knife steady in his hand as the two foes came together. Watching the knife in Michael's hand, he stepped slightly to the side, just enough so he could avoid the thrust…

Time sped up and the two of them clashed, coming together in a furious meeting of human and hybrid, stopping each other solid with enough impact to make their bones shake.

And Sheppard's eyes bulged as he felt a pain flare in his side.

Michael's chin tilted up, and his eyes danced victoriously as he gave the knife in Sheppard's side a malicious shove, sending the blade deeper in. Sheppard cried out, the hurt spreading throughout his body, the wound deep. And most likely fatal.

But he hadn't lost.

Shaking to remain upright, Sheppard stared Michael in the eye, breathing hard through his nose in an attempt to lessen the pain. For him though, the only thing that could really do that was the triumphant smile that spread slowly over his own face.

And slowly, they both looked down.

As Michael's eyes spotted it, widening in amazement, Sheppard gave his blade, the one implanted in Michael's stomach, a brutal jerk, pulling it up and slicing the stomach of the ex-Wraith open. Michael's eyes widened and then softened as he stumbled backwards, that strength and iciness that Sheppard knew from 50,000 years ago dying with the rest of his body. Limbs going limp, Michael's hand slid from the knife in Sheppard's side, and the enemy of his people fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

And Michael died, choking on his own blood.

Taking a deep, shuddering, pained breath, Sheppard fell to his knees, legs unable to hold him up anymore. The pain in his side increased tenfold, and he doubled over, feeling the blood leaking far too quickly from the wound. He looked up, the doors of the chair room still fifteen feet away, but closed, and blurring in and out. In and out.

He wasn't going to make it. And the self-destruct wasn't going to be enough. Thus this plan, and his whole reason for being here, but it didn't matter anymore anyway.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't breathe, and he was… he was dying

He tried to get up, the attempt failing miserably, and then he suddenly didn't care, legs sliding apart to truly deposit him on the ground. He put one hand on the sticky floor, and leaned on the shaking limb, head hanging with finality.

_Get up, John_.

The voices echoed inside his head, but he was already woozy from blood loss. The fact that it was in his head didn't occur to him.

"I can't," he muttered in reply, looking up at the doors once more. "I'm… I can't… I'm so… just so tired…"

He slipped slightly, breathing getting harder and harder, extremities beginning to go numb. And still, that insistent voice inside his head, the one taking on the tone and sound of long lost friends.

_Get up, John. There's still work to be done._

But he denied it, not caring, too tired to care anymore. He hung his head and closed his eyes, exhausted, mind, body and soul.

"No. I can't."

* * *

And so ends the big bad monster!

Wow, that felt just… epic to write. Don't worry, there's one more chapter! Wow, one more chapter...


	29. Chapter 29: Rising

**Author's Note:** I can't believe this is it!

So, um... wow teary. This whole story was a marathon effort... good thing I like running, huh! Anywas, I'm sad to see this finish, it's been a long time in the making... maybe a month writing and then over a month posting it... What am I going to do now...

Guess I'll just write some more! Or maybe I'll do some school work...

Anyways, wrapping this up. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, it really means more than even I can articulate. Seriously, some of you had me speechless, so, thank you. And this last chapter is for you all.

Please don't kill me...

* * *

**Chapter 29: Rising**

"_I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."_

"Get up, Sheppard."

The voices felt like they were outside his head now, and at that, hoping beyond hope, Sheppard opened his eyes, heart dying just that little bit more when he didn't spot Ronon, even though he could have sworn he had heard the big guy's voice.

_They moved into the conference room at Fairfield's insistence. The Olympian leader hadn't liked the look on Sheppard's face._

"_Okay. What's this big plan then?"_

"I can't," he told no one, his whisper echoing slightly in the isolated corridors of Atlantis. There was no one there, though he thought that even if there had been, his blurry vision wouldn't have been able to spot them. Everything wavered, and everything looked like a dream.

"On your feet, John."

"I can't, Teyla." He shook his head, and then coughed, watching with some degree of fascination as blood dripped from his lips to splash on the floor. "I'm so tired. I just want to rest."

_Upon hearing his plan, Fairfield realized the reason he hadn't liked the look on Sheppard's face. The man was giving up._

"_No," the Olympian denied, and Sheppard stared at him, not even bothering to glare. "That plan is stupid."_

"_No, it isn't," Sheppard told him with a sad shake of his head. "It's the only one. I can kill Michael by destroying this city. And then all you have to take care of is the ones in your own galaxy."_

"_But you're going to kill yourself!"_

"You can rest soon."

"I can't get up," Sheppard told them, told those non-existent voices, heart breaking that he was denying them this just as he had denied them peace. "I'm dying, Rodney."

"Yes, you are. But you need to do this first." The feeling that they were really there nearly overwhelmed him, and he dropped his head, tears breaking out. Why now? He missed them so much, and he had been ready to give up because he would never see them again, only now they were here, in his final moments, and it hurt. Oh God, it hurt.

"On your feet, Sheppard."

"_Why?"_

_John looked at Fairfield and shrugged. "Because I'm tired," he told the man, being honest. "I'm exhausted, and it goes deeper than anything that sleep or medicine can cure. When I realized I could never get back home, a part of me started dying."_

_He slid back onto the table and slumped slightly, looking each leader in the face. "Because I'm not meant to be here. Because I'm supposed to be dead and buried and dust a hell of a long time ago. Because every moment I spend here, I hurt just that little bit more."_

"Come on, John. There isn't much time."

"I need help," he whispered to them, head coming back up, blood softly bubbling over his lips. "I can't do this alone."

"We're here, John. We're here."

With a huge effort and a near-scream, John stood up straight, not bothering to remove Michael's knife, lacking the energy to spend on little things like that. Gathering whatever energy remained, knowing there was a high possibility that he still wouldn't make it, he pulled at the muscles in his legs. And with another loud scream that echoed throughout Atlantis, he started walking.

"_But this is the city of the Ancestors," Chayal reminded him once more, obviously disturbed and worried. She seemed to be looking for a reason. "You said yourself, in the very message that brought me here, that you would not let the hybrids destroy the legacy of the Ancestors"_

_The pilot shook his head. "I wasn't talking about the city. I was talking about us. You and me, and every human in the universe who evolved from the Ancients. That's their legacy."_

"_But destroying Atlantis now would be -."_

_Sheppard cut her off. "Appropriate. In this case… it would be appropriate." He looked around the city. "She's old, just like I am. She's tired, just like I am. She wasn't meant to be abandoned for so long, and it's eaten away at her will."_

He staggered into the wall with his first steps, nausea rippling through him, coughing with the movement, losing even more of that precious blood. He heaved, and panted, unable to stop the tears of pain and death streaking down his face.

_We're with you, Sheppard_, came the sound of his friends, and he closed his eyes, just for a second, imagining they were there, right beside him. He was so close to death's door that it was easy.

He opened his eyes and set them squarely on the doors to the chair room. Fifteen feet. Fifteen small steps. He could do this.

"_I know you respect, even worship the Lanteans," he continued, looking the two natives in the eye one at a time. "But they were around so long ago. It's time they were left behind. It's time for you to make your own history." He smiled sadly. "Not even Atlantis was meant to last forever," he told them gently. "It was a great legacy, while it lasted, but it is time for her, and her creators, to become the legend they were meant to be. Nothing is meant to last forever. Let this city's final act be an appropriate ending to the Ancients. Let her last stand be something incredible."_

Fourteen feet, and he was struggling to remain standing, couldn't walk in a straight line. He crashed repeatedly into the wall, eventually using it to guide him, seeing as his eyes were beginning to betray him.

Thirteen feet, and he pushed off the wall, suddenly determined to do this of his own accord, teeth set grimly even as blood from his lungs stained them a scarlet red. He staggered, and he stumbled, but he staggered and stumbled on his own.

Twelve feet, and he swore he could see shapes out of the corner of his eyes. Though, if he turned to look at them, the shadows, such familiar shadows, they disappeared, figments of his own imagination and death.

Eleven feet and he stopped looking around, the continuous movement of his head making him dizzy. He crashed into the wall again, and had to pause, heaving, knees locked to keep from falling.

"_Why?" Fairfield asked again, and Sheppard sighed. "Why are you so willing to do it?"_

"_Because this time is nice and all," he told the man, looking at Chayal and remembering their conversation only a few nights ago. "But it isn't mine. And it never will be. You all have the right to live out your lives. Mine ended when you woke me from that stasis chamber and told me I had spent one thousand years too long asleep."_

Ten feet and he was back out in the middle of the corridor, right arm held out, skimming the air, left arm curled protectively around his injury. Still he staggered and stumbled, and still those shadows darted around in the corner of his eyes.

At nine feet, he closed his eyes and squeezed out the tears, because he was inches from death, and, if he was hallucinating or if they were really there, it didn't matter, because it felt like they were there, and that's all he cared about.

At eight feet he began picking faces out.

"_I don't like it."_

"_I told you that you wouldn't."_

At seven feet he saw Caldwell, and Zelenka, Katie Brown, Kate Heightmeyer, Cadman, Stackhouse, Mitchell, Jackson, O'Neill, so many faces he had wished to see just one more time, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to lose the image of those faces, of those friends and comrades, afraid to open his eyes and find out that they weren't there. He thought if he did that he would be unable to go on.

At six feet he had to open his eyes anyway, because he stumbled into a wall, distorting the shadowy forms of either hallucinations or ghosts, John didn't care, because they were there.

At five feet, everything started going grey, and he swore sound evaporated, but he just didn't realize it was because he was losing touch with reality. Didn't care to realize it was because he was finally succumbing to death.

At four feet, he was close to the crossroads before the chair room, and he smiled with relief to see, to pick out more of those faces called forth to guide him forward, to rally around him from the subconscious of his own mind. Keller, and Lorne, Beckett, Colonel Carter, Elizabeth, they all stood there with him, for him, urging him silently on with shadowy faces. But he knew it was them. He had to know it was them.

At three feet he stumbled forward, taking the last two feet in one giant stride to fall against the door, losing touch with those shadowy forms. For a second panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he recovered, taking a huge, silent breath, or at least silent to his ears.

Suddenly remembering the self-destruct, Sheppard pulled his wrist up, blinking deliberately a few times so he could actually focus on the watch. Two minutes to go. He could do it in two minutes.

Shaking fingers pulled the panel off the Lantean version of a door knob and then he reached into his pocket to remove the crystal still safely hidden there. Trying not to collapse and die before he could finish this task, he aimed for the central slot. This one last task, that was all he had to do.

Three tries later the crystal was in the panel, and it opened with a whoosh. He stumbled through with enough hurry to shove him onto the chair, the door closing with a sense of finality behind him. One minute and thirty seconds.

Sheppard dragged his body into the seat, taking a deep breath as he tried to relax. He tried to concentrate beyond the blood loss and pain on activating the chair. It came on almost instantly, and the city welcomed him with open arms.

She knew that together they strode to death and the destruction of the hybrids in one fell swoop. And she was pleased.

That sense of relief filled him, and he couldn't help but smile, leaning back into the chair, finally able to relax. He called on the two systems he needed, knowing he was going to struggle concentrating on both, but sure he would be able to manage. He would have to.

With a smile, and a sense of returning home after a long, long journey, Sheppard nodded at no one, because although he could sense his closest friends, his family, his team, surrounding him, encouraging him with more than words, guarding him as he strode towards oblivion, they weren't really there.

They were dead and buried and dust, and he longed to join them.

The thought reached out into the city's systems, and beneath him, without even thinking about it, the stardrive pulsed into power, struggling slightly but managing. He knew she could do it, knew she wanted peace as much as he did. That thought made him sad, as he remembered the vibrant, loving city he had found with his friends, the city he had called home for four long years. That she longed for ending made him choke up, almost made him lose his concentration as slowly, achingly, Atlantis rose into the air.

One minute.

But he knew how she felt and that she, with him, would be going out in such a fitting way was all that really mattered now. The fact that he was giving her, with him, a chance to do some serious good before both their lives were plucked from time… that was worth the years of sadness she had endured.

Almost forgetting the pain, almost forgetting the fact that he was about to die, he flew up through the toxic atmosphere of the very planet he had landed this ship-city on. The chair rotated slightly, but he didn't notice, so connected with the city's systems was he. He felt almost as if, as his life drained away, the city accepted it, and together, they would be death.

Thirty seconds.

Up through the sky they flew, the man and the city at death's door, the power draining from the single ZPM still remaining. And, like rabid wolves, Michael's remaining ships closed in.

Inside the chair room, Sheppard snarled, and Atlantis snarled with him. Together they were death.

And together, they collapsed the shield until all that was protected was the tower in which Sheppard sat, spinning on a chair, oblivious even to the intense fire that struck the outer rims of the city and made her rock.

Ten seconds.

His consciousness and life almost seeping into Atlantis, Sheppard pulled on what strength he had left and called on the remaining drones hidden within the city. With a ferocity the galaxy had not seen in 50,000 years, the drones escaped their bindings, and flew up, up, dancing around the outside of the shield, glowing with such intensity that the hybrids within those ships felt mesmerized. The firing slowed, though never stopping altogether, and taking a deep, final breath, John let those drones dance, spinning and weaving their magic around Atlantis for one final, magnificent show, until they lit up the space around them. Time drifted towards an end.

And then, as the cold vacuum of space seeped in, Sheppard thought one final command, and let the drones pelt from their hovering positions around Atlantis. Not towards the ships attacking the fair Lantean city. But towards the fair city itself.

Inside the city itself, inside her very systems, Sheppard knew the instant the drones struck the surface of Atlantis. But he didn't care. Having time only to heave a sigh of relief, he let go of everything, finally accepting oblivion as all around him the city exploded. He slipped, the sense of his friends and family surrounded him…

And as the white embraced him, all John Sheppard knew was nothing.

* * *

_Epilogue_

When the Olympian expedition to Atlantis finally returned to their home, it was to celebration and victory. Michael's forces, the hybrid armies besieging their very galaxy, were leaderless and in chaos. And everyone knew it was because of their team.

The war was not over, not by a long shot, but victory was finally in sight, when it had never been there before. Finally, there was hope.

The returning expedition members told strange stories. Of a legend thought long dead. Of an enemy upon whom retribution had been wrought. Of people and places believed to have disappeared in the distant past.

Of a great explosion that had wiped out half a solar system. Of one man's sacrifice for a people who could never be his own. Of his return, hopefully, to friends and family he could call his.

Those expedition members tried to get the story out. Of John Sheppard and all he had done for their people. But even with proof, even with the message the man had sent out, and the hard-won Module, and the Lantean designed ship they introduced as the Shepherd, the Bringer of Freedom, there were not many who believed them. Not many who believed a man from 50,000 years ago had saved all their lives.

Within a generation the truth of the Atlantis expedition became tales. Within two, they became myths. Within ten those myths had become the property of scholars, who dared debate about the authenticity of happenings that should have been remembered for eons.

The Pegasus galaxy finally rejoiced in their hard won freedom, and they, at least, dared not forget the sacrifices made in that battle. But even they, over the decades, relegated those happenings to fireside tales of a time long past, to tales of men and deeds so amazing that it was hard to take them for the truth they were.

After all, nothing is meant to last forever.

* * *

Okay, I think I should explain why I chose to do that. And to be honest… I'm not one hundred percent sure. I did think that if Sheppard were stuck in that time, he would not have wanted to stay. Everything I said though, everything Sheppard told Fairfield, Chayal and Damora... I meant it. This story was meant to be an ending, for Earth, the Ancients, and most of all, Atlantis.

I told you there was not going to be a spectacularly happy ending!

Anyways, I hope you liked it. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! And I guess I'll see you in my next story, whenever and whatever that may be.


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